


What else? (Part III: Love)

by my_thestral



Series: What else? [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-04-28 08:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5084350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the hatred they have for each other cannot keep them away and... lust... well, what else?... keeps drawing them together. Until one of them has enough. Or not enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sinking in...

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this is in several chapters. It was meant to be as one, but it was just taking too damn long and I decided to split it in pieces to give you guys something and to buy myself some time. I'm not too happy with it, truth be told. My life is in a general turmoil and I think it reflects in my writing. So sorry if I let anyone down. I'll try my best to make the next story a better one.

It was time. Fucking finally! He didn’t think he could have taken another minute of this god-awful tedious waiting! Draco Malfoy left his Slytherin dorm and tried to look as casual as possible when he headed towards the Prefects’ Bathroom, quietly praying that no one saw past the snotty, disdainful expression he put on for this occasion, and deemed fit to stop him. No one did. Everyone knew he had been especially irritable and snappy during the last couple of months and even his friends trod gently around him, making sure they stayed well out of his business and far away from his acid wit. Thank fuck for small miracles! He had been counting seconds since their last class for the day finished, and he couldn’t bear another second of delay.

And there he was. He stopped in front of the door to the Prefects’ Bathroom abruptly, exhaling deeply, and ran his nervous fingers through his hair. Well, nothing for it now, he’s come this far. But when his hand reached for the doorknob, it still trembled a little. Perhaps this time…

No. Empty. Again. Bloody Weasel! Couldn’t he be decent enough for once to show some… dedication to what they were up to?! God, he hated the freckly bastard! And, sadly... wanted him. _Craved_ him, actually, as his fluttering heart and rushing pulse insisted on reminding him. Bloody misery, that. And perhaps even… yeah, er… _no_. He didn’t want his thoughts straying in that terrifying direction. They were… drawn to each other. That should do. No need to go deeper.

He sighed and began taking his clothes off. Bloody Weasel indeed! Some Gryffindor! The redhead just wasn’t up to it, ever. He was too proud – or insecure or whatever the fuck it was that stopped him from doing this part: to arrive first and endure the quiet torment of humiliating, terrible waiting. So it had to be him. _Every. Bloody. Time._ But it was either this or… no, giving this up was simply not an option. So Draco waited. And hated it; Merlin, did he hate the waiting!

He was never more vulnerable than in those empty moments between arriving – first, always first, that ginger bastard! - and hearing the click of the doorknob moving hesitantly, followed by the quiet tall figure slipping in and lingering by the entrance some, as if Ronald Weasley wasn’t quite sure he had a right to be there. Draco’s chest always tensed impossibly and released the painful burden of hot air shakily when he realized that he was once again getting what he came for, as toxic as it was, as right as it felt – but the time in between was just killing him.

Once he was submerged in the hot, wonderfully scented water of his refuge – his alone for a few endless, unbearable moments – he always tried really hard not to think about it. Once he had realized that he… needed it, he had made a pact with himself that he would never allow himself to obsess about it as long as this… this _bad habit_ was his to have. But there were always going to be moments of weakness and the waiting provided for plenty of those. Naked in the water, as exposed as one could be, in the silence and warm, steamy atmosphere of the Prefects’ Bathroom, designed to make one unwind, his thoughts rebelled against his resolve. The restlessness and panic that rose up inside of him just wouldn’t be stifled.

What was he doing?! Merlin, father would shred him to pieces if he ever found out and mother would just die of shame! How could he want this… him… them?! What was it about the redhead that he found so bloody irresistible?! He was just a boy… _just a boy_ , for fuck’s sake, there was a small million of those out there and every single one would have been a better choice than him! But it had to be this one… it had to. It was in those moments that he had first come to realize, with a sinking heart, that there was no one else for him and it was this recognition that choked him and made him hate all those restless moments of hungry anticipation. He _needed_ someone for the first time in his life, needed _him_ , and he couldn’t forgive his foolish, hungry heart and greedy prick for that!

And he made him wait! Why did the evil ginger motherfucker make him wait, when there was no doubt he needed it just as badly as Draco did… Yes, he did, he had to! Why else would he keep coming back? True, it was Draco who had started it... but Merlin the merciful, it was his salvation, he had to do something; he was practically hallucinating about him day and night after the Prefects’ bathroom incident! And yet – it wasn't just him, was it?

The way Weasley had risen to the bait – eagerly, hungrily, immediately, without even bothering to look for excuses – made it pretty obvious that Draco's disguised offer came as a dream come true. The redhead had never said it; they never spoke about anything much during their desperate encounters anyway, but it was in the way he tore his clothes off with out-of-control urgency, in the way he always came half-hard already, in the way he sunk into the water and launched himself at the Slytherin as if a starving man would at the mouth-watering meal, as if he could hardly wait...

The mental image itself made the blond’s skin prickle and his cock swell, and the thought of father and the vicious, unforgiving world outside of their fragile shelter slowly faded into the background. He knew of nothing and no one when they were together. They were all too perfect as one.

Merlin, this was… _mad_ , but it was like that ever since the first time they had clashed against each other, wasn’t it? Draco closed his eyes and couldn’t stop a wistful, bittersweet smile blossoming on his lips when he thought of that very first crazy, angry, inexplicable encounter between them in the hallway after the Quidditch game debacle. Draco had foolishly instigated it, like the conceited idiot he was; not thinking where he was headed at the time, not knowing that this was a road leading straight to hell.

Because their first one had not been enough. No, of course not, that was _his_ life - why would anything be easy?! While other people got to fuck a different person every night if they wished so, he had to get addicted to the very first, the one and only person he had ever been with! But by god, it had been magical… Magical and unforgettable and so sublime it still made his heart ache to think of it; to remember how he got to surrender to another person – fully, completely, with no reservations – and felt embraced, at peace and complete. And the feeling it left behind was one of disastrous hunger for the boy he could not have, should not have wanted, should not have gone near – and every thing else had pretty much gone to the pot from that very first time on. He had been beyond help since.

Their second time was nothing more than an incidental encounter, an unfortunate accident really, but it had pretty much cemented their fates together as if it was the evil gods’ way of saying: _“This, here, is what we’ve got ready for you, do not bother fighting it.”_  

And yet, in spite of the same scenery of the Prefects’ bathroom and nearly the same circumstances – a very wet, naked him and a late, gorgeous Weasel – their second crash-and-burn experience wasn’t quite like _this_ had become either. It hadn’t been… _deliberate_ in the same way this was; it hadn’t been planned so meticulously, nor awaited so eagerly and feared so dreadfully. It was yet to become perpetual. Because this… was a habit. A really bad, terribly destructive, weeks-long habit, impossible to shake. A crippling addiction, if there ever was one.

 _Bloody waiting._ It brought honesty along as well.

But this… these meetings of theirs – it could not be different. It was all he had and… he needed it. As ridiculous and insane as it was, he had come to need Ron Weasley and he hated himself for it; hated him – hated and yearned and craved it him like a madman.

The redhead had barely left after their wild, chance encounter in the Prefects’ bathroom – abandoned him, really, because that’s how it had felt back then – when Draco felt it for the first time, as acutely and as scarily as he was ever going to feel it: there was a void, a dark, echoing, light-absorbing emptiness where his pride and arrogance once resided and it made him feel hollow and restless and it made him want and pine and obsess the way he never obsessed about anything and anyone before.

In the days that followed he barely functioned throughout the day. He was torn between feeling miserable and downright mean to his friends, and stupidly elated, with his heart fluttering like a nervous bird against the cage of his chest at the first sight of red hair in the distance. And the nights were even worse. Left to the mercy of his own thoughts, defenceless from his own desires and tortured by the memories and alluring reveries, his rebellious hand often, all too often, landed on his hard, desperate cock and only one fantasy worked, only one face, only one name… Ron… _RonRonRon_ … _fuckgodRon… yeah_ …. always Ron in those moments, never Weasley.

God, he was frustrated… and furious! Lying in the darkness, with the other Slytherin room-mates snoring around him happily, he was lost in his favourite fantasies of that hard, muscled body pressing him into the mattress and his cock throbbed in hopeless desire to be touched and caressed and… oh, god… manhandled… but his redheaded demon was not around and it made him livid and it just made him want to scream!

Why, oh why was he so stupid to have started messing with him?! Why the fuck did the redhead have to look -, smell -, feel so gorgeous? Why the hell did every last one of Draco’s defences melt like snowflakes in the summer sun as soon as those long fingers touched his skin and _owned_ him? Why did that lovely mouth fit so perfectly around his cock and where, _where_ on Merlin’s bloody earth did Weasel learn to suck, and lick and tease like that; the way the Slytherin found it irresistible, the way it sparked to life a whole havoc of uncontrollable sensations inside him that made him gasp and beg and surrender?!

Lost, angry at the whole world and incredibly turned on, the blond fucked his fist with gritted teeth one endless night after another, telling himself stubbornly, time and time again, that this was all fucking Weasel was good for – bloody brilliant wanking material, if there ever was one – but that was it. _That was all._ It had to be. It held… long enough. Until he saw him next. And fell apart again. 

He tried everything to get rid of this… impossible crush, he god-honestly did, but none of his usual arsenal of weapons-against-Weasley worked. The cruel jibes that made Weasley’s deep blue eyes focus on him and give him that long, livid, resentful look, only served to send Draco straight to the nearest bathroom with a raging hard-on, where he tossed off with desperate urgency while cursing his stupid hormone-flooded body and his terrible infatuation copiously. Why could he no longer spit venom at Weasley without his stupid brain translating every action into a masochistic arousal?!

The shouting matches he used to enjoy so much were, sadly, out as well. There was always a good chance that those might end up in physical brawls and it wasn’t hard to imagine he’d end up rubbing his perpetual hard-on against the redhead in front of the whole school… Yeah, like that could ever have more than one possible outcome! What if he forgot himself and kissed him?! Merlin… no. He’d never live down the shame! Bloody Weasel just took all the joy out of his life, didn’t he?!

The blond had even tried avoiding the Gryffindor menace, as uncharacteristic as this was for him, but as big as Hogwarts was, it seemed to have shrunk to the size of a matchbox when it came to meeting Ron. He was everywhere and always there and Draco was slowly, but surely going spare with frustrated want for him and blazing hatred for what the redhead had reduced him to.

And then that stupid bint Lavender Brown happened. She had been after Ron ever since that bloody Quidditch match victory, the slut that she was, and it seemed that his stupid, insecure Gryffindor had no weapons to defend himself from what the saccharine butter-cake had plenty to give: blind admiration. Soon enough she was all over the redhead like the plague and Draco just _couldn’t_ bear it. Somehow this was a million times worse than that Mudblood Granger pining after his chosen one, because this one… this one had been entirely undeserving… a terrible choice… dumb and ugly and _argh_ , he hated her!!!

He literally saw black every time he caught the giggling bimbo climbing all over the redhead; what the fuck did she think she was doing?! This, here, was _his_ , goddammit! Fucking Weasel, how dare he let her?! Truth be spoken, the Gryffindor never quite looked the happy participant in the orgy of affection the stupid girl with a death-wish was spilling all over him, but Draco still couldn’t help but to glare murderously every time he came across her slobbering all over the lovely bastard he couldn’t stop pining for.

But then he witnessed the fat cow put that atrocious, garish necklace with a pierced heart pendant around Ron’s neck, leaving the flushed redhead looking equal part appalled and embarrassed – and it just kind of broke the chain that kept him at bay, didn’t it?! He only had to look at Weasley to see that he hated the necklace, couldn’t stand the damn thing – yet he accepted it with a stuttered _“thank you”_ and a half-hearted hug that the slobbery bitch used to snog him good and proper – and the Slytherin had finally had enough. Here he was, obsessing like mental over this impossible, stupid boy he wouldn’t allow himself to have and in the mean time, the redhead had no reservations of being ridiculed by the entire school as long as he got to piss him off and make a point! Not on Draco’s watch, nope, not anymore, this had to end here!

He wasn’t thinking, he simply acted on impulse when he grabbed Pansy’s hand and pulled her closer, and he barely had time to register the surprise on her face before he closed his eyes from his own folly and just kissed her. Snogged her straight on the mouth, actually, and she, oh, yuck… oh, the supreme blegh… she tasted like chalky wet sponge by comparison.

“Draco…!” she squealed in fake horror, looking every bit as if Christmas had come early, but he didn’t care for her and he wouldn’t look at her, not even if she started doing cartwheels around the room. His first and only look went to the ginger berk and when he found those brilliant blue eyes focused on him, simmering with ire and jealousy, he felt as if a giant load has finally fallen off his chest. He suddenly felt so elated and happy it was almost dizzying and staring across the room straight into those magical eyes that found a way into his every dream, there was no longer any doubt in his mind: he wanted those eyes gazing at him from up close, and he wanted that resentment spilled all over his skin. His breath hitched just at the thought of it.

“So… does that mean you’re taking me to the Astronomy tower tonight?” Pansy’s voice, laced with affectation, broke through his drooling and he forcefully made himself tear his eyes away from the true subject of his interest.

“Huh? What?! No! Whatever the fuck gave you that idea?” he spat, livid at the foolish bint for interrupting his gleeful, starved focus on the stormy freckled face, but the shocked-gone-livid expression on her face made him swallow a more acid comment. He didn’t need to get hexed by Pansy snout-nosed Parkinson while he was trying to figure out a way how to hump the beautiful prat again! Oh… wait… oh, she was totally brilliant! She had given him a cue and the brainless arse he had become, he nearly missed it!

“I can’t… tonight,” he looked her bravely straight in the face and tried to smile as gracefully as his Malfoyness would have him. “You see, I’m _busy_ tonight. I’m…”

He gulped as imperceptibly as he could and spoke as loud and clear as he could hope to, without looking absurd and all too obvious.

“I’m on Prefect duty. You know, doing rounds and such. And afterwards it’s my turn in the Prefects’ Bathroom; I had to book the last time-slot due to those bothersome rounds.”

With a heart beating up in his throat he managed a quick glance towards Weasel and he saw the dark cloud of anger replaced by a confused frown… and then something alike realization, followed by an incredulous look. Good. This better be what he hoped it was.

“And I can’t give that up, honestly, Panse, I can’t! I’ve been waiting for ages to get warm in this draughty ruin of a school and if I give it up, some scum like Weasel there might jump right in and take my spot – and we can’t have that, can we?!” he said with a small smirk and a provocatively raised eyebrow only to see the blue eyes grow dark again. But what came out of Ron’s mouth next, knocked the wind out of him.

“If you won’t let me have it, Malfoy, how about sharing? Poor people get cold, too, you know!” the redhead hissed quietly, dangerously and it had made Draco’s knees go weak on the spot. Oh, that reckless bastard… how dare he?! He knew everyone else must have interpreted it like an attempt at ridicule – they must have, not knowing what they’d been up to! – but to him it sounded every bit like a dark, passionate promise that made his cock swell instantly and it nearly made him swoon. He didn’t have a single clever reply in his head, not one, and it was god-given when Pansy saw it fit to start screeching to his defence.

“Merlin, Weasley, could you be more pathetic?! Who’d want to share a bathroom with _you_ , you freckled sack of dirt?!”

“Wow, your _boyfriend_ lets you kiss him with that mouth? Malfoy, honestly… no wonder you need a bath!” The pretty, freckled face stretched into that killer naughty smile that lit up those blue eyes like stars and Draco had a sickening idea that if the redhead had whispered, _“Let’s fuck…”_ it couldn’t have made him harder than he already was.

“Shut your filthy gob!” he managed to squeeze through his teeth somehow but it only made the redhead move closer and Draco could smell the warm, intoxicating scent of his skin already. Oh… bloody hell, ohhhh…

“But why? You must like it filthy, if you like Parkinson, snake…” Ron spoke with deceitful calmness, but the edge underneath his voice was for Draco’s ears alone. “Let me know if you warm up to that sharing idea… I’d save some of the really dirty bits for you… to admire…”

That tempting red mouth delivered another one of those god-sexy, slow, provoking smiles and Draco bit his lip, hard, not to launch himself at him and taste it. Luckily, the catcalls and giggles that erupted from the lines of the Gryffindors had already made any kind of intelligent reply impossible – thank fuck for small miracles! – but they had also infuriated Parkinson.

“Sod off, you spotted pouf!” she hissed and before one could blink, she had her wand out and pointed straight at the redhead. It happened so fast Ron didn’t even flinch… but Draco did. His hand reacted before his conscious brain could catch up. His fingers wrapped around her hand like cold serpents and he could barely stop himself from howling at her. What was the crazy bitch thinking?! Was she attempting to ruin the precarious plans he had for Weasley this evening?! She better not, he’d murder her in her sleep!

“If all this gutter-talk is the only way you can get kissed, Parkinson, perhaps there’s time for a new boyfriend,” Weasley spoke coldly, but his livid eyes told a different story. And Draco’s heart went on a rampage inside his chest, beating like a drum-gone-mad, because he knew what this was – it had nothing to do with Pansy, this was a warning for his ears alone and he was nearly giddy with heady realization that Weasley was jealous enough to strike at him. God, yes, this… it was this passion that was driving him towards the redhead like a vicious landslide that didn’t care what it destroyed in its path. And that’s why he needed him safe for tonight – he couldn’t wait to settle the score their own way.

“Put that away!” he nearly spat at Pansy and his fingers around her hand contracted viciously. “I’ve seen McGonagall lurking about and you know very well we can’t afford to lose any more points this year! We can’t hope to win in an open confrontation; use your head for once!” But the crestfallen and furious expression on her face warned him to tread carefully and he forced his face into a sly smile as he whispered hastily:

“We’re Slytherins, darling, and this is not our way. We’ll get back to them, to every last one of them, but we’ll do it _our_ way.”

He saw her eyes grow softer when he called her _“darling”_ , and he used the moment to pull her behind, but then an ice-cold, mocking _“Oh, look, first lovers’ quarrel… and over me of all things!”_ hit them in the back of their heads and he had to focus not to turn around and launch at him, show everyone, the whole fucking school if it need be, what this was all about, what they were made of. He was glad he didn’t do it, though. If the Brown bint’s giggles were anything to go by, she was once again showering her ginger hero in admiration – and he just wasn’t in any kind of sane state to handle it. Not to mention that he needed a wank so badly that Pansy could possibly be getting a new hole in her back, if she stopped abruptly.

Because in there, in those mocking, contemptuous words, there had been a promise, right? Hidden out in the open, for everyone to see, Ron had acknowledged his offer like a chess master he was, and practically promised to see him again. Right in front of everyone, the crazy Gryffindor arse that he was! Because that was what it was, wasn’t it? It had to be, gods, it had to! Merlin, he could not stand another minute of holding the soft, spongy hand of his unplanned-for girlfriend; the hand he wanted to close his fingers around was twice the size and Quidditch-calloused and would surely have locked around the narrow palm of his hand with warmth and strength that spoke of possessiveness he so hopelessly craved. Merlin, what had he gotten himself into?!

Not that it matter much, no, not any longer. He had sold his soul to the red-haired devil and now he was going to have to take what his insane decision brought in tow. But first things first. He needed some time alone to wrap his head around the new situation and try to make the best of it, and for that he needed to lose Pansy; fast. He knew it was going to cost him; she was a Slytherin to the bone and she won’t be as easily manipulated as a more gullible girl might be. She was, on the other hand, a perfect cover for his… private activities, and keeping her around might just prove useful. So he stopped dead in his track in an abandoned Hogwarts corridor and turned towards her.

“So… Hogsmeade this weekend?” he asked with deliberate kindness straight into her big, puppy eyes and had to endure _“Oh, Draco! Of course! I thought you’d never ask!”_ as she threw herself at him. He carefully put his arms around her, not to give her the wrong impression and after he counted to five, he moved her away gently, but adamantly.

“Good, that’s settled then. I was hopeful you would say yes… for some time now,” he added quickly, smoothly and had to stop himself from rolling his eyes up when she giggled the same way that he saw that Lavender pie do it.   

“Oh, Draco… who could say “no” to you, honestly,” she looked at him, and blinked in a flirty fashion, but under all that affectation, she seemed genuinely all radiant and for the first time he felt something alike pity for her. She could not have picked a worst target for her affection, if it was real. He could barely feel friendly towards her on a good day and he possibly had more respect for that Mudblood Granger. Yet, Pansy was his ally, a welcome one, and he couldn’t afford to lose her as one.

“I’m content to hear that,” he announced, trying to sound pleased and for a proper theatrical effect, he kissed her cheek briefly. “You’ll have to excuse me now, darling. As tedious as this Prefect duty is, I’m bound to perform it. The weekend it is, then.”

He should have known that the peck on the cheek wouldn’t be enough; she launched herself at him yet again and snogged him properly and after that he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. As soon as he made it behind the corner, he wiped his mouth furiously and made a grimace – seriously, there was no comparison; with all her overdone make up on she tasted and smelled like a powdered paper bag, while Weasley and his plush, tender lips… that slick, maddening tongue, teasing its way into his mouth, that warm breath caressing his willing skin into goose bumps, those fierce blue eyes, staring down his soul while the curious, strong fingers lead his body down the road of surrender… oh, yeah… about that wank…

With painful perfection he still remembered every detail of that first planned rendez-vous, which had inadvertently started a pattern that lasted until this day; a vicious circle of yearning and waiting and finally getting the very thing he had doomed himself for – only to do more waiting and cursing and yearning – until their next time.

He thought he would perish waiting. The bloody clock just _wouldn’t.fucking.move,_ and for the first fucking time he was happy to see his Prefect rounds around the castle come up – at least it gave him something to do and he got to take his frustration out on some of the squealing offenders. But finally it was time and with a fluttering heart he headed for the Prefects’ Bathroom. His fingers shook as he was taking his clothes off and even submerged into the hot water of the bath, he was still shivering. He had put his whole world on the edge of breaking and now it was no longer up to him. If Weasel didn’t come…

The seconds ticked away as slowly as hours and his intense gaze was glued to the damn door as if he could will it into opening. He didn’t know if half a minute has passed or half an hour, he had no sense of time left, but with every passing moment, in which he dared not blink not to miss the movement of the door-knob, his disappointment grew more bitter until he was nearly on the edge of tears and choking on his bile. Bastard… that vile Gryffindor bastard! Fuck…

But in that moment the door-knob finally tilted, nearly imperceptibly at first, and when the door clicked open slowly, hesitantly, his heart swelled up like a balloon. He won... bloody hell, he won! He knew it was him before he even entered; he had made sure no one else could open the door, so it had to be him, it had to. And it was.

Ron had entered and closed the door behind him carefully as if he wanted to have something to focus his attention on to, if only for a moment – and then he just stood there, insecurity written all over that pretty, freckled face. Draco only had to pay a single look at him, feel the manly, earthy, god-sexy scent of him hit him straight on, and he knew he had made the right decision. His heart went positively wild in his chest and the mixture of relief and arousal was so heady and powerful that it had turned his legs into jelly and he was nearly giddy with the overwhelming blend of conflicting feelings. Gods, he was gorgeous… How could someone he hated so much, smell like pure golden aphrodisiac to him?!

But Weasel still wouldn’t look at him; he was standing so close to the door as if he was considering having a last minute change of heart and Draco knew he simply couldn’t bear it. He wanted to shout at him, share some of the impossible tension, tell him _“You’re late!”_ in the coldest, most dismissive voice possible, as he would to a servant, but there was something in that nearly transparent face and downcast eyes that squeezed around his heart viciously and ached and he couldn’t spit out anything vile or he would have damaged himself. Against any reason he couldn’t stand to see Weasley hurt and just a chance that he might leave and abandon him yet again… _no_ …

“Well… what are you waiting for?” he asked hastily instead, and was shocked to hear his voice come out so raspy and breathless. Fuck, he sounded desperate… fuck, he did. But it was this barely hidden despair and the unmistakable urgency in his voice that finally did the job. Ron’s head moved almost imperceptibly, but just enough that it made those eyes made of the deepest blue land on Draco’s face and the blond’s next words shot out of him before he could stop them.

“I’ve been waiting… I… get in here… you need to get in here.”

Finally, a small, shy smile and an unusually softly-spoken, almost flirtatious _“I’m still dressed, you know”_ was all it took to let the Slytherin know that he was not alone in this terrible obsession.

“Let me help you with that, then,” he offered quietly, with his heart beating madly somewhere in his throat, and for an eternal, painful moment the redhead said nothing, did nothing. But then those endless legs finally moved, slowly, as if in a trance, and he approached the edge of the bath, almost as if every step came with a price he could barely afford. He stopped just inches from the water and those unfathomable blue eyes were once again upon his face, sinking into his grey ones, all the way down to the bottom of his naked, aching soul and then his redheaded devil slowly sank to his knees as if in a beautiful act of surrender.

“There,” was the only thing he said in a dark, strangely pliant and subdued voice, as if he came to offer himself, looking for mercy, and like this, on his knees in front of his adversary-gone-lover, he was the closest thing to God Draco had ever seen. His heart drowned in an unknown, sweet pain of need and desire that spread down his body like a warm tide. He wanted him… Merlin, how very much he wanted him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, he could no longer control his actions. His arms shot out of the water as if they recognised their one chance at this and his nervous slippery fingers shook as autumn leaves when they reached up to that strong, long neck to undo the first one of the tiny buttons of the crisp white school shirt. And the redhead just let him.

His eyes still held, firmly set onto Draco’s face as if he was afraid to look away and break his resolve, as if that narrow face held all the answers he couldn’t hope to find within his torn soul. Draco knew exactly how he felt, because their thoughts, their emotions have somehow spilled into each other and became one. There was no need for words, none for explanations or excuses, there were no mistakes possible, none of this could ever be wrong. _This was right_. This was how it should be between them. As more that taut, tempting body came to light, glowing in the candlelight with its own golden luminescence, Draco felt the heat rise up his cheeks and his vision nearly swam with lust.

 _GodMerlinfuck_ , Weasley was a piece of work… stunning… so very manly… unfair… entirely unfair that someone should look so breathtaking as if he was created by a meticulous divine artist who strived for perfection. With the shirt off and crumbled at the edge of the bath, a kneeling, half-naked redhead was a sight for gods. The candlelight drew exotic shadows over every defined muscle of that delicately sculpted torso, accentuating those wide shoulders Draco dreamed about holding onto; the soft golden light poured down that endless, sensitive neck he’d love to worship with his mouth and pooled around the tiny, taut nipples, standing dark and erect from the creamy background, simply begging to be touched. They were too much of a temptation for Draco like this, right in the line with his mouth and he closed his lips around one hungrily and sucked…

“Merlin… Malfoy…” It only took this half-gasp, half moan of Weasley’s for Draco’s fingers to shoot up and look for the other little rosy peak, just to hear that wonderful, undoing sound again.

“Greedy…” the redhead had whispered, but that single word was laden with the same need and desire that was burning down the blond’s veins, incinerating all his scruples and hesitation.

“… only for you, you bastard…” Draco had murmured against his skin and there was another quiet moan when the long fingers slipped into his hair, warm, wonderfully strong, beautifully possessive. Yesssss, this…

He brushed against the hot, hard bulge of his sex god and he had realized, though somewhat hazily, that Weasley had spread his legs and let him slip between them. Those strong thighs he couldn’t help to drool over were pressed closely to each side of him, but they were still clad in an old threadbare pair of jeans, now soaked all over the place. Christ… he had been too busy toying with those addictive little nubs to ever finish undressing the redhead – but right now, with the wet fabric clinging to the every contour of that impressive hardness between his legs, he could not bring himself to regret it. Even trapped like this, mounting angrily against its constraints, Ron’s hard cock was making his mouth water and everything else fell forgotten.

He ran his fingers across the tented fabric gently, as in reverence, and was awarded with a breathless moan, that made him incredibly greedy. Merlin… he’s dreamed about this so many times he didn’t even feel like a beginner.  He’s never been near anyone’s cock with his mouth before, yet it felt as if he knew exactly what to do. He rubbed his cheek against the tempting bulge slowly and was completely mesmerised by its warmth and hardness. But his act of silent worship produced another one of those god-sexy gasps, so he looked up into the blue eyes, as if asking for permission and the redhead nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Go on, then,” the Gryffindor whispered in a shaky voice and it made the blond’s blood pound in his ears when he recognised that urgent, cursed need that bound them. He… is going to love this, he just knew it. Just mouthing him over the thin, threadbare fabric, to have a feel of his volume, proved to be the most undoing thing ever. He licked the little stain the blossomed where the rock solid shaft pressed against the constraints of the trousers the hardest and the strained _“fuck, Malfoy…”_ was all it took for his fingers to start fumbling with the offensive fabric that kept him from the main prize.

 _JesusMerlin_ , he was big! Big… and angry-looking… and how was that supposed to fit… anywhere?! That was his first shocked thought, because dreaming about that magnificent cock and actually seeing it up close, in all its erect glory, were apparently two different things. And as if Ron knew what he was thinking, there were suddenly those long warm fingers underneath his chin to tilt his head upwards and the redhead leaned down to capture his mouth in a long, slow luxurious kiss that eradicated every last trace of his panic and completely bewitched him. As soon as the luscious mouth let go of him, he knew he wanted to do… _that_. He was ready.

He closed his eyes and thought of the way he liked having it done and smiled like a leisurely cat in front of him. He was going to start slow and see where it took him. And after that first, tentative, slow lick from those perfect hardening balls all the way to the pearly top, everything was easy.

Ron’s whispered “ _Jesusfuck_ , Malfoy” was desperate enough to instantly have him addicted. Yessss… this is what he was after… to reduce this beautiful motherfucker to an utter mess; to give back some of that raw feeling of primal pleasure Weasley knew so well how to induce with those smart fingers and that sweet, talented tongue; to lick and suck and worship and please… to make the redhead dig his fingers into his hair and whisper his name… and all those sincere obscenities he couldn’t think of in a broad daylight without blushing and going hard because he’s only ever heard them from him – _“oh, fuckplease… suck me, you beautiful, cocky little bitch”, “Christ, you’re talented, blondie, you were born to do this…”, “I can’t believe you’re using this gorgeous mouth to throw those evil, acid jabs at me… you always fuck me up… make me want to knock you down in front of everyone and shove my cock into your mouth… and watch you swallow it whole… watch you toy with it… watch you get off on making it ooze this fucking hatred I have for you… and sucking it empty…”, “god, you’re such a divine slut, why did I have to fall for you…”, “Christ, Malfoy… Draco… I… please… pleasedontstop… please… so close…”_

In that moment he let the pulsating, swollen shaft out of his mouth, but only to twist his desperate need to the point of breaking, only to whisper with his hot breath across the sensitive wet flesh what he needed him to know: _“I want you so fucking much it hurts… Ron… Need you… need to taste you, beautiful…”_

And with a desperate, hopeless _“Fuck… Draco!!!”_ the redhead slammed forward and spilled his delicious, hot load straight into Draco’s pliant, hungry mouth. And to the blond it was the most intoxicating feeling ever… those possessive strong fingers in his hair, holding on for dear life… the way he yelped his name… like it was his weakness, his sweetest, most private sin, like it was only right… and then the taste of him on his tongue, warm and bitter-sweet, not at all unpleasant, just… a lot to take, but he didn’t care for the bits he couldn’t catch, he didn’t care about being a mess with him, because that’s what they did to each other – they messed each other up and that’s what they were about. So it didn’t really startle him when Ron leaned down and the soft tongue sought out the remains of the pearly liquid he could not swallow.

“I taste funny…” he heard him mumble and it was such a Ron thing to say that he couldn’t help his mouth stretching into a smile… which the smart, greedy tongue used to slip in and steal his breath away. Merlin… he had yet to come and this was… this was…

“This was delicious… why did you do that for?” he whispered into his mouth and the blond didn’t think he had enough marbles left to lie.

“Wanted to…” he said instead and when he absent-mindedly blurted “…for ages”, he didn’t even get the time to regret it, because the redhead had unexpectedly sank into the water and knocked him against the edge of the bath to kiss him thoroughly.

“That’s how I like you best,” Ron growled quietly, dangerously, in a way that it made Draco’s skin prickle and his nipples harden. “Pressed into a corner, with nowhere to run…” the redhead whispered with warm, moist breath against his abused mouth and bit his lip lightly for a good measure as if he knew it was going to go straight to Slytherin’s cock.

“Ron…” he moaned helpless, because his cock was now trapped in all its swollen glory against that muscular body and he knew he was seconds from surrender. Ron’s fingers found him in the same moment his soft, succulent mouth descended down his neck and god couldn’t stop him from crying out when the heavenly fingers moved in the ancient rite of seduction and that tender mouth sucked on his pulse, with lethal gentleness. He was doomed before it began; this was what he wanted, this was what he lived for and Weasley was a generous master.

“Ron… Ron, please…” he heard himself beg and he hated and loved hearing himself so undone. Those skilled fingers were driving him crazy and he could no longer focus on anything so he threw his head back and closed his eyes. And that helpless moan that came out of Ron’s mouth was his unexpected payment, a drop of aphrodisiac to the chalice of lust his body had become and he nearly spilled over with that silken, dark sound.

“Oh, yeah… oh, yeahgodfuck, yeah… _MerlinfuckDraco_ … this… the way you are now… this is what I wank to… _every.bloody.night…_ in my lonely bed… you gorgeous, blond demon… _you_ … no one but you… You hurt me and you laugh at me and I can see you go hard at the sight or me… and I just want you in my bed, waiting for me … I dream of spreading you open and fucking you hard… fucking all that hatred out of you, until you’re screaming _my.fucking.name_ because you hate me and you want me so bad you can’t help it… I want to see that look in your face… this one… this very one… when you’re seconds from coming and you need me… the way no one else needs me… same way I need you, you beautiful bastard…”

As if he knew those very words are going to push him over, Ron’s mouth was on his, bittersweet and daring as the first sin, claiming those first broken words that made it out of his mouth when he flooded his fist with no way to save himself, “Ron!!! Oh, _fuckplease_ … Ron…”. Through his immense, wonderful bliss he could still hear his lover’s whisper _“I love it when you say my name, I love… this”_ and that last word had seemed somehow _wrong_ , as if it wasn’t what the redhead really wanted to say. But then those strong arms closed around him and held him through the sweet, heavy darkness that turned his limbs to lead and Ron held him through the terrible transformation of blissful darkness becoming a dreadful realization that this was once again over and that he’s going to have to go through hell for many more days before his pride caved under his uncontrollable obsession and he’ll find a way to have him again.

But Draco knew he would, there was no question about that anymore. He was in no state to lie to himself. Find him he would, that much he knew, that much he allowed himself to admit. He… no, not him, but some infernal… _thing_ … inside of him needed Weasley more than words could say and he knew he’d be back for more. Just standing like this, wrapped in his embrace, with all that intoxicating Ron-scent all around him and his head pressed into that wide Keeper chest, listening to his heartbeat, he felt incredibly safe and right and… home. Being held by Ronald Weasley, of all people, made him happy and he had no idea where to go looking for a reason for that, so he decided not to bother – this is what it was. And he just knew he was going to hate the next few moments.

He hated being pushed away, however gently, he hated parting with all that warmth and that sense of being complete and in his rightful place, but it was coming and he detested how weak it made him. So it took his breath away when he felt Ron press the tiniest of kisses into his hair, almost as if he loathed parting as well… and he nearly forgot how to breathe, when Ron’s fingers danced down his cheek in a gentle caress and once again found a way under his chin to bring his face up. He found himself staring into the sea of blue, into the pretty, freckled, wet face up close and he remembered that he loved seeing himself in his eyes.

For a long moment Ron seemed to study him intensely as if he was hoping to see something on his face that was going to give him the right answer, but Draco cared nothing for his studious intentions: if he was going to lose this soon, he better use every moment when it was still his to have – and would you look at those tempting, abused lips so close – did he really do that?! He didn’t mean to! Well… perhaps a little bit… but he needed to make it better for those poor damaged lips right now – kiss it better, isn’t that what they say? And he was only a little bit surprised when they waited for him willing and pliant, warm and eager, as if Ron was hoping he would make this one important step as well. He didn’t want to let him go and the redhead had acknowledged it and didn’t seem to object. Draco could barely believe his luck.

“So this is real for you, too?” he heard his tall lover whisper, as if in awe, but the blond had already closed his eyes and submerged himself into that luscious, hungry kiss, and he barely bothered to nod. He knew Ron’s mouth now, he knew how to tease it into kissing him properly, he knew how to lure his tongue into one of those mind boggling licking and fencing sessions that left him shaking for it, he knew how to make the redhead go from insane, starved mouth-to-mouth to a kissing marathon staged all over his body that made his nerve-end burst with tension and aching need only those skilled fingers and supple mouth from hell could put out.

They ended up making love twice more that night and only when they were both lying on the heated, but hard tiles by the bath, panting and barely able to move, Draco was willing to accept that this was really it, that this was the end. He couldn’t move to save his life, but his mind was already slithering around a million and one idea, devising impossible plans and discarding the mad ones, working like a steam-engine to make sure this happened again, to make certain there would be a next time. He felt him move and he knew it would hurt before it did and he was still unprepared for the fact how very much he wanted to keep him. He kept his eyes closed while the redhead was getting dressed and he was only hoping Weasley had no way of telling that there was a turmoil going on under the peaceful façade.

And only when he heard him head for the door, he opened his eyes to at least remember him like this, in one of those rare moments when he was still his to have, and much to his surprise he found him standing still by the door, with those mesmerising blue eyes on his face, as if Weasley was saying his quiet, private goodbye as well.

“You know…” the Gryffindor started hastily, but then stopped abruptly and blushed adorably. Just as he turned away and grabbed the door-knob, he seemed to have changed his mind again and he blurted out almost as if he could barely help himself:

“On Thursday, the last time-slot is mine. I… you… oh, bloody hell, I still hate you!”

And just like that, he was gone and Draco was just lying there, with a heart swelling in his chest and the biggest fucking smile one could fit on a Malfoy. He wasn’t given a chance to respond, because Weasley was just a mad fart and his self-confidence could be carried by a baby ant, but there it was – some sort of an invitation and he didn’t care if that proud Gryffindor barely nearly choked on it – he was still coming. Oh, yeah… a Norwegian ridgeback in front of that bloody bathroom couldn’t keep him away. Because he was just an idiot that way. A horny idiot at that. An obsessed one. He should have known Weasley was going to be trouble.

First of all, he was never on time. Never. Not even in his own time-slot did Ronald Weasley ever show up on time, as if he was making a statement that he wasn’t desperate for it. Only… he was. He was a fucking animal when they got together and it was becoming increasingly hard for Draco to conceal all the marks the passionate redhead left on him. And the scary thing was, he didn’t even want to, less and less so. He would often lay in the darkness of his bedroom and touch this love bite or another bruise made by their careless haste and imagine walking around with it proudly. All his alarm bells should have gone off at that! But they didn’t. Instead, he let himself be dragged deeper and deeper into the dangerous, murky water of his attraction to Weasley – and he had yet to hit the bottom. 

Their private little meetings twice a week should have been a perfect outlet for a dark unhealthy passion they harboured for each other, they should have served to let them burn the hatred between them, to let them steam out all those youthful hormones they were flooded with. And in this respect, those arcane, heated meetings of theirs did the job quite spectacularly. But unfortunately they were slowly morphing into a something else, something… _more_ as well. And Draco found that aspect of the bond between them scary and terrifyingly irresistible.

They’d start off every one of their encounters with sex so desperate Draco often thought his heart would explode along with his cock. Weasley was a top-notch athlete when it came to fucking. But the really scary part came afterwards. Because Ronald Weasley, as it turned out much to the blond’s surprise, liked to cuddle… and Draco Malfoy discovered, much to his despair, that he was scarily in love with that idea. He just… _liked to be held_ afterwards, it seemed. Bloody hell… this had disaster written all over it. But he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help himself. He knew he would have come to meet Weasley for those moments in his arms – sated and sleepy and stupidly happy – alone. Weasley was a slow-working poison, but he was a poison nevertheless. An addictive, lethal sort that works its way through one’s body, slowly dissolving its victim into a wreck.

And that’s why he was back time and time again; that’s why he endured the long moments of waiting like some involuntary settlement for the tenderness and bliss he was awarded with; that’s why he could see no end to his obsession even as it was turning more unpredictable and more dangerous. Weasley just… he needed to keep meeting him. He needed to come every time, just… needed to make it to their warm little shelter, to their steamy refuge, to their little piece of stolen Heaven – and Draco could take anything that came as a payment.

His breath hitched as he saw the door-knob move at long-fucking-last and that slender figure slipped in a moment later. It knocked the breath out of Draco every time, to see him stand by the door, looking like a dream come true with that fiery hair and a shy, daring smile just for him. Only… there was no smile in those bluest of blue eyes of his this evening, just some unpredictable, crazy sort of determination and the blond’s skin prickled as if his senses recognised that he was facing danger.

Ron didn’t linger by the door as long as usual, not this time. He tore himself from the entrance as if he had made some reckless decision and had one chance at doing this right. He walked straight to the edge of the bath and kneeled down, just like that first time. The blue eyes sought him out and his quiet, adamant words froze the very breath in Draco’s chest:

“I don’t want this anymore. I want…”

But he didn’t get to finish his words. Draco rose out of water with all the ruthlessness and despair of a wounded dragon and with a raw, livid scream that tore somewhere from the bottom of his damaged core he locked his arms behind Weasley’s long neck and pulled him into the water.


	2. Spilling over...

The echo of Draco’s scream barely subsided when the redhead rose out of the water. He was taller and stronger after all, yet even so he was barely a match for a hurt and furius Slytherin, who no longer cared what he hit and how badly.

 “You evil bastard… never fucking on time… leave me waiting like a common pauper… and now you want to end it!!! Think again, you fucking, vile git!” were the broken, desperate words the poured out if the cracks of his broken Malfoyian armour and Ron had to throw all his weight into wrapping his long arms around him from behind and holding him in a gridlock.

“ _Jesusfuck_ , Malfoy…” the redhead gasped, while still spurting water. “I knew you were a monster, but this… would you stop trashing about for one fucking second, you blond idiot… Merlin… calm the fuck down… who said anything about ending it?!”

And the Slytherin went instantly rigid. With his hands still raised, in a position to deliver a stroke, he stood as frozen as a statue and only his heaving chest betrayed he was, in fact, a living being. Then his arms fell flat down his body as if all the spite had run out of him and he slowly turned towards the tall redhead, whose arms were still locked around him. The blond closed his eyes for a second, to get a grip on himself, to brace himself for whatever was coming and then he let out a shaky breath and looked up into those mesmerising blue orbs.

“Not ending it…” he repeated awkwardly, the tremor in his voice and his heaving chest revealing how very much he was invested in getting to the bottom of this. “But you said…”

“You didn’t bloody let me finish, did you?!” Ron barked somewhat irritated now when he was no longer in immediate danger. But he didn’t release his arms around the slender blond and his eyes eventually softened.

“I just thought…” he murmured and when he cast his eyes downwards and swallowed, Draco thought he was the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. “I wanted to say… I’m no longer happy with _just_ this.”

The Gryffindor that he was, he finally looked straight into the eyes of his Slytherin lover, alight with silver awe, and blurted out the words that must have taken all of his courage and then some:

“I want more.”

And Draco kind of stopped breathing after that. Merlin, Weasley… What the actual fuck?! Oh, dear god… that mad Gryffindor idiot! He can’t just come and… _say_ that. He was fine… _everything_ was fine until it was left unspoken… as long as they could pretend that it wasn’t there… as long as they could still call it fucking and turn a blind eye to the fact that they spend more and more time simply wrapped around each other for warmth and that unspeakable sense of belonging they gave to each other.

Oh, Merlin… that’s what you get for meddling with that all too honest Gryffindor lot! As long as he could still pretend there was no other… things… feelings involved he could still cope with it, but now... Now it was out in the open and he could no longer lie to himself: he loved those moments in Ron’s arms, every last one of them. He loved closing his eyes against the alluring scent of his warmskin, he loved counting freckles on that wide chest and chasing them with his tongue to make him grunt; he loved the feeling of that silken fiery hair tickling his skin, and he loved finding himself so completely immersed into this one person that felt as if he was exactly where he was meant to be. He loved… he was dead-frightened to finish that thought.

Oh, bloody hell, why did crazy Weasel have to acknowledge it?! He could almost feel himself fall apart at the seams… where were they supposed to go from here?!

But those brilliant blue eyes already turned dark and the arms behind his back dissolved, making him feel strangely loose and dizzy.

“But it seems I’m the only one who wants it,” the redhead spoke very quietly and Draco could just make out the hurt tainting those sky-blue eyes before he pushed him away and turned towards the edge of a bath to climb out. The blond wasn’t thinking, there was no time for that, his actions were pure instinct and his hands closed around those wide shoulders before there was any conscious thought involved.

“Don’t,” he said hastily, with a strangely dry voice, as if he was standing on the edge of a bottomless cliff and wasn’t certain of his ability to keep his balance. “Please don’t go. I… you… you can’t.”

Ron stopped as if frozen and only after a few endless, terrifying moments, he slowly turned towards his lover and Draco was surprised to see the blue eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“Well, I can’t bloody stay either!” he shouted angrily at the same moment when he lost a battle with his tears. “Not when you’re happy with the way things are – and I’m not!”

He pushed his arms off his shoulders and wiped the treacherous tears off his cheeks furiously, as if hated them for betraying his weakness so obviously. “You don’t understand… this is just a fucking game to you, isn’t it?! A nice, safe way of letting your tension go, having your cock sucked twice a week by someone who can never betray you for what you are – while you keep on ignoring whatever else is there. No feelings are _ever_ welcome when it comes to you, Draco Malfoy, I know that much. But it’s not like that for me. For me…”

His voice broke and for a moment there he looked so lost and hurt that Draco’s throat seemed to have closed down at the sight and barely any air got through, making him strangely dizzy and reckless.

“For me it’s all I think about… and whatever scraps you give me, it’s never enough,” Ron continued quietly, in a resigned voice, but there was no mistaking the misery that radiated out of every softly-spoken word. “I barely leave and I’m already thinking about our next time and about the way you snuggle up against me after… you know…” he blushed most adorably and Draco’s heartbeat switched up a gear or two, thinking that he’s never seen anything prettier than a blushing Ronald Weasley.

“And it only takes that to make me feel as if I’m worth something, as if I’m the one… the only one for you,” the redhead continued softly, unaware of his own allure, but there was such unspoken, leaden sadness in his subdued voice that it sent shivers down Draco’s spine.

“Look… I know it’s all fake for you… I know it. I know you only keep coming here to get your rocks off with someone easy and cheap… but I can’t help myself, yeah? I guess I’m that very sentimental Gryffindor sucker you take me for after all,” the redhead finished with a small, bitter smile and his eyes closed for a moment, perhaps to get a grip on himself or perhaps to hide from the Slytherin what was left unsaid. But Draco knew and his heart fluttered wildly in his chest as if begging to be released and scream out the secret they shared and tried so hard to stifle. But he said nothing, he couldn’t. Everything he was would have fallen apart under a weight of such recognition and he wasn’t strong enough… he wasn’t.

“So… I can’t do this anymore, not like this,” Ron picked up, sounding tired but adamant. “I know you take me for a daft idiot who can barely tell which way his arse is pointing, but even I know enough, Malfoy, not to ask for impossible. I know that we’ve picked our sides the second we set foot into Hogwarts and for all I know, our fathers might have made our choice for us before we knew any better. I know there’s a world out there, our world, in which I could never snog another man in public the way you snogged that evil bitch of your girlfriend. It’s just not done and I have no wish to label myself as even more unsuitable and awkward as I already am. I know you’re a player – wealthy, clever and destined for greater things than a miserable Harry Potter’s side-kick and his overbearing affection. I know all this,” he repeated stubbornly, as if he wanted to point out that he had thought this over. “And I don’t care about any of it,” he finished simply and finally looked straight into the grey eyes of a shocked Slytherin.

“You see… I have no great designs for my future,” he spoke uncommonly softly and a tinge of that sadness was still there, corroding what was left of Draco’s armour of arrogance and disdain. “In fact… the way things are going, I’d be lucky to make it out of my teens alive. Being best friends with a Saviour definitely comes with a price, you have no idea… yet I’d never give it up, never, and if it costs me my life in the end, so be it. I know I’m average and I owe whatever popularity I have to my friendship with Harry and however well I’m coping here, at Hogwarts, to Hermione.

“But being average and not being destined for great things doesn’t stop me from wanting things for myself in what little time I have left, Malfoy,” Ron’s voice suddenly grew intense with that wistful passion that instantly made Draco’s skin prickle and he was overwhelmed by a shocking desire to kiss him and share some of that fire. He could barely tear his eyes away from those supple lips moving. 

“I only want small things, feasible things, no fancy miracles – things you want when you only live for the moment,” the redhead continued quietly, almost dreamily and it made Draco’s head spin to realize that Weasley trusted him enough to get so... personal with him.

“Things like... you know... getting out of this bloody bathroom, because I can no longer stand those fucking hard tiles," Ron's generous mouth turned upwards in the tiniest of smiles. "For once I want to lie down on a nice, soft bed… a big, spacious one, with no hard edges, with fresh smelling sheets… somewhere, where I could undress you slowly... and fuck you stupid, Malfoy,” he suddenly looked straight at him with that daring, sexy lopsided grin of his. “Because I never stop dreaming about that.”

And Draco’s heart made a clumsy salto and left him with his boiling blood rising and buzzing in his ears. He was unable to tear his gaze from those predatory, brilliant blue eyes, filled with sweet, sinful promises and the reflection of his own stunned, pale face he could see in those crystal orbs, seemed to be blurred  at the edges. Merlin, Weasel lost it… but in the best of ways… He shouldn’t talk like that, he shouldn’t… this could not end well.

“And after we’ve fucked in every way we can think of, Malfoy…” Ron’s voice, strangely soft and barely above a whisper, seemed to go straight to Draco’s helpless, stubborn cock. “When we’ve done it so many times you stop begging for it with that fuckable mouth and that tempting arse… just because you can’t bloody move – then, blondie, I want to wrap myself around you, let you snuggle against me, let you lick the freckles off my chest if you must… and I’d love to fall asleep with you. Long and peaceful, with no hurry and nowhere to go.”

Strangely enough, after those words Draco’s world was never quite the same again. In the small pause that followed Ron’s words, something changed and the reality in which all those simple things were utterly impossible, seemed to have faded away. It was only them now, the frantic beating of his heart, the rush of his own blood in his ears and Ron Weasley’s eyes, staring down his soul and bonding them forever.

“Now, isn’t it strange…” Ron said quietly, a deadly weight to his words, “… isn’t it strange, Malfoy, that every single wish I have, involves _you_?” A shiver he could not conceal went through Draco’s skin, electrifying it, making all the hairs on his body rise.

“I guess… I just want you,” the redhead whispered softly and it took what little breath Draco had, away. He barely managed a choked, pleading _“Don’t…”_ , but that wasn’t much of a line of defence from what was coming.

“As wrong as you are for me – I want you,” Ron repeated with that stubborn, passionate determination that bordered on despair. “And I had to tell you. It sure took me long enough to get it myself.

“You see… I almost broke my brain, trying to figure us out,” the redhead continued in a dark, restless voice, as if offering an unwilling confession to an invisible god, hoping to be absolved. “Was it really what you said – just lust, binding us like this, bringing us back to clash against each other time and time again? Was that _all_ there was? It felt too cheap, too common, and just… wrong for the way I feel about you. But I had to be sure. Was I really so desperate, so filled with teenage hormones, so bloody horny, to go after you, just because you were willing and ready for me? I let Lavender snog me inside out, to see if I was indeed that easy – and guess what: I wasn’t. I barely found her interesting and she certainly deserves better.

“There had to be something else, then. Was it because you have that fucking soft, vicious mouth on you that smirks at me and spits insults in my face and kisses me the way it makes my knees soft and makes my fingers turn greedy? Perhaps I’m wired like this; perhaps I’m crazy about you because you challenge me and provoke me, until I just want to hurt you and fuck you and have you cry out my name when you come. That would have been so easy to grasp; that would have made sense, except... that isn’t it either, Malfoy – and I think you knew that from the start, better than I did, and you lied to me, the cowardly little snake that you are.”

“Shut up,” the blond barely uttered with a dry throat, his voice incredibly weak. “Don’t ruin everything…” he whispered frantically, all too pleadingly, but Ron shook his head as if he had made a decision he was unwilling to change and he spoke with the same dark determination as before.

“You see, try as I might, there was a tiny bit of our crazy encounters that I couldn’t quite place. Where does the part when I hold you afterwards go, Malfoy? That little heartbeat of time, that seems to grow longer and longer every time we meet; that quiet, priceless, sweet moment when you lie in my arms exhausted and boneless like a plush kitten, snuggling up against my warmth, kissing a trail between my freckles and finally close your eyes against my fingers treading through your hair? How do I place that, Malfoy? It’s not hatred. It’s not lust either. I think you know what it is… and you lied to me, because it has a name you’re afraid to use.”

“Shut up!”

Draco’s fist flew out of the water again and hit the Gryffindor’s chest as if he tried to smash the precious emotion to bits in its nest and stop those brutally honest, destructive words from coming.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!!! Why did you have to go and ruin everything?! God, I hate you! Why uthe hell did yo have to go and dig deeper?! Couldn’t you for once – _for once_ , you blasphemous idiot! – leave things as they were?! We can’t have more, can’t you see?! There isn’t _more_ … to have… for us… not for us. And now we’re going to lose what little we had… And I can’t bear it… I can’t fucking… bear it!”

Before he knew it, his face was pressed against that wide chest that he loved to hold onto so much, and those strong, warm arms soothingly wrapped around his narrow shoulders, already shaking with violent tears that came out of nowhere.

“Shhh…” Ron whispered into the semi-darkness of their embrace. “I love you, too, Draco.”

“I don’t…” the blond chocked out stubbornly through his tears but nothing else came out as if his body recognised a blatant lie and rebelled against it. He only snuggled up against him more tightly and cried a bloody river.

“Such a stubborn little liar,” Ron whispered gently, without letting go. “You’d rather break yourself than admit defeat. But you’ve got nothing on your Weasel, love. We’re as stubborn as they come. I can’t play with you anymore, if you won’t play with your heart. I won’t. God knows I didn’t come here today to end this – but you leave me no choice. I can’t keep on coming here, wanting more every time I leave; getting hurt, because it’s enough for you and it won’t ever again be enough for me. I die a little every time I have to leave and you’re looking at me, saying your silent goodbye, and I know you won’t ever do anything to stop me because you got what you wanted for that day. And I want so much more… I can’t even begin to tell you, you’d just mock me for being a sap.”

He pressed one last kiss into the blond hair, he seemed to have a hard time saying goodbye to, and whispered in a torn voice, full of regret and some stubborn, unyielding hope:

“But… if you ever _do_ want more, my beautiful fallen angel, come and find me. It doesn’t have to be my dreams we make true, you can show me yours. But I want a piece of you, Draco Malfoy, the real you, the one that snuggles against me and asks to be kissed again and again, with no words. I won’t ever come to you for less than your heart. And until you find it, we’re back to what brought us together in the first place: to hatred, disdain and all those cold insults you’re so good at. Be my guest; they no longer hurt the way they used to.”

Those warm, comforting arms around the Slytherin dissolved and with one last brush of the long fingers against a trace of tears on his cheeks, Ron was gone and the blond could barely hold the choking sobs in his heaving chest long enough to hear the door click. His body nearly convulsed under a violent storm of tears, because he hated, hated, _hated_ that evil redheaded demon that kept on ruining his life… and he loved him so bloody much he could barely breathe under the suffocating emotion.

“Come back, you mean git! Come back this instant!” he yelped in a raw, crushed voice through a flood of devastating tears into the emptiness of the bathroom, but not even banging his fists at the edge of the bath helped – there was no one to answer him, no one but his own lost echo.

He’s never felt so broken before and it was as if all those feelings he kept at bay through the years of his cold, stiff upbringing, crushed upon him with a vengeance, all at once – the sadness, the feeling of loss, the feeling of being lost, the fear, the shame, the regret – it was all there, and that cursed, hated love most of all. He felt… invaded by it and he resented it; resented the feeling of loneliness it had left him with, because he no longer had the one person he wanted to share it with.

“I hate you! Merlin… I hate you…” he sobbed out as he felt the weight of his loneliness, his abandonment, wear his heart down as if he was suddenly a million years old.

He had no idea what to do next. The world without Ron seemed bleak and without any colour. How was he supposed to live without the prospect of those breathless, impatient moments of crazed passion followed by most sublime tenderness, he could barely hide his hunger for? He couldn’t even imagine coming to this place ever again – how was he supposed to relax in here, when it only ever reminded him of a heartbreak?

He stared into his own reflection in the water forever, long after his tears had dried; he remembered last seeing it in those sapphire eyes and finally, with parched, tired, nearly soundless voice he whispered at it:

“You know I do… I do, too.”

It took him a while to stagger out of the water and by the end he was shivering, in spite of the bath being charmed to stay warm. He felt as if he would never be warm again. He didn’t even know how he made it to his Slytherin quarters, but sinking into the dungeons felt strangely in place that day, as if it was somehow right and proper to get buried in the chilly, dark place with tons of heavy, ancient slabs of stone piled on top of it, threatening to bury them all underneath.

He felt buried himself, buried alive, with his heart still beating and boiling painfully, fiercely with love he never wished to have, but it came and found him anyway. He’s never felt anything like it before, not even remotely. It was horrible. This love thing… how could anyonewrite poems praising it, how could anyone celebrate something so _devastating_?!

He climbed into his bed, not really aware that he was not even properly dried, and the when the exhaustion finally brought upon a restless dream, it was uneasy, heavy one, filled with sad blue eyes, long fingers brushing his cheek and warm mouth whispering into his ear: _“Come and find me.”_

And when he woke up, feverish andstill trembling violently, he finally knew what to do. He was Draco Malfoy and for someone of his name there was ever only one way.


	3. Finding a way...

It took him the rest of the week to make all the arrangements – even with money and six years worth of secrets to blackmail and favours to be repaid it wasn’t easy for a Hogwarts student, who had no way of getting out of the school, to find a decent, private room to rent for the weekend, without anyone of significance finding out about it. After some consideration, he recruited Blaise Zabini to help him. Blaise, always short of coin when his mother was between husbands, had proven to be exceptionally useful in the past – and the boy knew how to keep his mouth shut. He never asked many questions, as if he really didn’t want to know and be considered an accomplice himself, but Draco was still cautious: he only gave him the faintest outline of his intentions and Blaise never asked for more.

“I need your help,” Draco told the exotic looking boy after he had dragged him to the darkest corner of the Slytherin common room and, while glancing around, put an expression on his face that would have driven a troll away.  “You see, I need to get out of the castle for this weekend, unnoticed. It hast to do with… certain business… for our side, I can’t disclose too much. I need you to get Pansy off my back, tell her I’m ill or studying or some such rot – and make sure Potter doesn’t stick his bespectacled nose in it, he’s been sniffing around a lot lately. And for Merlin’s sake distract Granger – that nosy Mudblood know-it-all is way to smart for her own good! Best get them out of the castle for the weekend, if you can think of a way, or they’ll suspect we’re cooking something – which, of course, we are. I’ll take care of Weasel, the dumbass is easier to dupe than a newborn Pygmy Puff, and Longbottom will probably put himself in the hospital wing again anyway, no assistance required, the clumsy klutz that he is. I know it’s a lot to ask – but you’ll be rewarded well for it, I can promise you as much,” was all the skimpy detail he was willing to give and the quiet boy, who was a much bigger menace anyone would give him credit for, only asked _“How much?”_ and _“What about Snape?”_.  

Snape. That was a good one. He would have forgotten about the gloomy, bitter Potions Master, who was also a Head of their House. Snape was cleverer than the rest of his adversaries combined and he had an uncanny ability to stumble upon things that were none of his concern. He couldn’t leave Snape to Zabini.

“I’ll take care of Snape,” he promptly decided and Zabini just nodded.

“Deal,” he said simply. “I want half upfront.”

Draco thought about dealing with Snape long and hard. He knew he stood no chance in trying to fool the man; he was as sharp and as cunning as they came. So he simply knocked on the door to his private quarters in the evening before his grand plan was supposed to take place and offered him the truth – well, a half-truth at the very least – as arrogantly as only a true Malfoy would:

“Professor, if I may steal a moment of your valuable time... Excellent, how very good of you. Now, better get to the point; I’m well aware you have no time – nor patience – for nonsense. You see, the thing is – I have a… request to make. Quite a special one… and I would prefer if my father didn’t hear about it – for the time being, that is. You see, I wish to… entertain someone this weekend and I would kindly like your permission to do it outside of the castle.”

He felt those black-as-coal eyes burning at the back of his skull before he even finished the sentence, but he merely smiled coldly, obligingly, and focused his mind on those unpleasant moments, when he let Parkinson snog him, using the trick his father had taught him – _“… when subjected to Legilimency, focus on what you’d like them to see – try to remember the details of that scene and you might have the person inspecting you, distracted, if luck is on your side…”._

He tried to remember what Pansy was wearing that day and the colour of her fingernails and surely enough he felt the powerful black stare subside a little.

“And who, if I may ask, has earned the honour to be your… guest?” the permanently displeased-looking wizard enquired, but the tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth, never fully on display in front of a Malfoy, told Draco he was convinced he already knew.

“As a gentleman I cannot disclose the details of that… person’s identity. I do not wish to compromise anyone, I’m sure you understand,” the blond said pleasantly enough and allowed a haughty smirk to curl his lips and when Snape nodded, curtly, barely noticeable, he was all but certain he had won. However, this was Snape, and he was never the one to let someone off the hook easily.

“I cannot grant any student a free exit for an entire weekend, I’m sure _you_ understand,” the Potions Master explained leisurely in that unpleasant, gruff voice he had, and Draco found himself with a sudden knot in his throat, feverishly hoping there was a _“but”_ in there somewhere.

“But... perhaps I can… _fail_ to notice that a particular student is gone…” Snape finally evolved nearly matter-of-factly, as if he enjoyed keeping him on the edge for a while longer. “Should that certain student return to his dorm by no later than… let’s say ten o’clock in the evening, on Sunday – _precisely_ ,” he added pointedly and Draco felt a big rock of concern roll of his heart.

“I see…” the blond paused politely, careful to hide the nervous tremor of relief in his voice. “How very… generous of you, Professor. If there’s some way to express my gratitude…”

“I’ll be certain to mention it when the time comes, young Malfoy,” Snape cut through his words rather rudely, but Draco wasn’t about to complain about his lack of manners.

“Very well, then, Professor. I will see myself out. I wish you a very pleasant evening – and thank you again,” he said, somewhat sincerely, and Snape threw him the strangest look.

“Thank your mother, boy,” he said unexpectedly. “She asked me to look after you – and imagine she would like to see you… content.”

It was the most curious thing to say and Draco was tempted to ask him about it, but the dark Potions master must have read his intent and promptly slammed the door behind him.

And then came the hard part. Disappearing from Hogwarts for the entire weekend was tricky enough – but he had no intention of going alone. And if a certain redhead was no longer game…. A painful pang that resonated through his chest was proof enough how much he was invested in this… little experiment he was willing to go through just because Weasel was a spoilt brat who wanted the moon. Or an equivalent of it. And now when Draco was about to deliver it, he only had to find a way to _ask_ him. Which was, in reality, much harder than it seemed.

It’s not like he could walk to Ron, pull him out of a red-and-gold crowd around him, and ask him if he was willing to escape out of the school for a weekend with him, because he was dying to have his brains fucked out – oh, and if he could please fall asleep in his arms after they were done with the horny bit… er, how about _no_. Honestly not a very popular option in Draco’s mind; one he hoped to avoid – just the way he’d been avoiding _him_ these past few days. Skipping lessons they shared, finding excuses to disappear whenever he all but spotted a glimpse of red hair in the distance, manipulating the House elves to bring him food to the dorm – he was not beyond any of it. He just… oh, bloody hell… he felt he could no longer trust himself around the lovely Gryffindor he fell for so spectacularly.

If he was to meet him before he managed to carry out his crazy plan, he would surely risk ruining all his efforts with some spontaneous lunacy. He wasn’t entirely certain if he would have jumped him to beat him to the pulp for leaving him behind – or because he missed him so bloody much that he couldn’t stand the idea of passing himby as if there was nothing between them, as if he wasn't choking on the very words Ron wanted him to say, as if this boy he wanted so mindlessly and beyond any reason, was not his to have.

But he was dreaming of him with his eyes open and close; he’d stare in the blank space during the class, not hearing a word of what was being said, thinking of those blue eyes he could see himself in, of the strong arms closing around him, sheltering him, owning him, of those long fingers shooting fire up his skin, and of the hungry, soft mouth stealing his breath and offering whispered confessions of the unspeakable that he was not meant to have, but he came looking for it anyway. He’d wake up after some merciful soul or the other shook him out of his stupor and his first concern these days was how to conceal a bloody hard-on he had worked up during this daytime reveries. At least at night he could indulge his fantasies…

So, no… nope, he couldn’t just… bloody ask him, could he?! But he had to do _something_! It was already Friday morning and he was running out of time. If he didn’t figure out what the unfathomable “something” was by the end of classes, it would all be in vain and he could wave goodbye to his one crazy chance at showing Ron how far he was willing to go to get his attention again and prove that… he didn’t even want to _think_ about it. His mind cringed from it and panic ran down his veins like a toxic flood, as if trying to warn him he would be burning all bridges. But burn them he would, he knew that much now, and he might have to start by…

His line of thoughts was brutally interrupted by a sudden hard blow that knocked into him from behind and catapulted him across the corridor, straight into the crowd of people passing by. A blink of an eye later he crashed against a tall, muscular body and when he was instantly welcomed by a familiar scent and those strong, possessive arms closed around him, he forgot how to breathe... In the background there was a pained _“Ouch! Sorry, I didn’t mean to!”_ and a loud, howling laughter, signifying that Crabbe and Goyle managed to ambush that idiot Longbottom again and trip him over, but Draco barely registered any of it. Unaware of his own actions, he had closed his eyes and just breathed him in; inhaled that heavenly warmth and wonderful essence that was as Ron as it came, and he mewled quietly as the world came to a slow stop. He never wanted to leave again. He was even afraid to open his eyes in case this was some elaborate, cruel dream and he would lose his precious presence as soon as he woke up.

Whatever feeble protection against what was coming he had built in the last few days, melted away like butter in a hot pan. He needed to tell him, needed to let him know and he barely remembered to keep his voice down to a whisper.

“Please,” he all but breathed out quickly, and as quietly as he could, and he didn’t even hate himself for sounding so bloody desperate. “You need to…”

But he never got to finish the sentence. He felt himself being whirled around, still inside the arms of his fiery lover as if Ron had an equally hard time letting go, and he finally opened his eyes in shock. The last thing he saw was the glee on Potter’s face and the panicked, nervous expression on the face of the Mudblood, before he was pushed through the open door leading to an empty classroom.

“Excuse me, while I have a “ _talk_ ” with the serpent prince here for launching himself at innocent passers-by like a bloody comet!” he heard the redhead say somewhere above his head and his deep, dark voice made his skin prickle with a sudden rush of goosebumps. But at this point he wouldn’t have cared if Weasley yelled a couple of “ _Crucio!_ ”s down the hall; not as long as he got to stay like this, pressed against him for a few priceless moments longer. He was still holding firmly to his robes with both fists, when the ancient, heavy door closed behind them with a loud “thump” and cut off Granger’s frantic squealing:

“For Merlin’s sake, let him be, Ron, he isn’t worth it! Besides, it was an accident! Neville…”

That sweet, starved mouth was on him before he could ask for it and _MerlinfuckChrist_ , he forgot how it was to kiss Weasley... pure, sparkling magic, shivers and liquefied fire of need running down his body like a deadly storm, destroying everything in its path and… how could he ever think this was going to be hard… how could he ever give it up… what wouldn’t he give to keep it…? He needed to keep it. He knew of nothing else anymore. He opened up for that lovely, eager mouth completely, sought out its warmth, its desperately missed tenderness and moaned most embarrassingly when their tongues touched gently and slipped around each other like playful serpents made of silken fire.

“Ron… please… just this once… Ron… more…” he heard himself beg into his mouth and the redhead murmured a heated, angry _“Jesusfuck”_ and pushed him backwards into the wall. Those long, warm fingers slipped into the blond hair to find a grip so Ron could melt his very soul and kiss it out of him with that ungodly mouth and Draco could feel his knees turn into a goo. The only thing still holding him up was that heavenly, strong body, pressed against him and he put his trembling hands on that magnificent arse he couldn’t stop fantasizing about and pulled him closer, just to show him that he couldn’t get enough….

He gasped and whimpered all in one when the hard, hot bulge rubbed against him, brushing at his painfully hard erection like an angry dragon, ready to take his offering, and his helpless sounds of surrender seemed to have broken something inside the redhead:

“You need to come back to me!” Ron hissed and caught his bottom lip with his teeth as if he knew he could get anything in Heaven and Earth from Draco just by doing this. “I can’t do without you… I miss you so bloody much. I want you… all the time… all the bloody time, you have no idea... Merlin… longest fucking three days of my life… Don't you dare stop kissing me, I’ll fucking die without your mouth on me… You need to change your mind… and for fuck's sake, stop hurting me! You can’t kiss me like this and tell me you don’t want me… not when you make me feel like this... no one makes me feel the way you do… no one… Don’t do this to us... don’t let me go again… you always let me go and it fucking hurts… it hurts to know you want me and you won’t have me…”

“No… yes… I mean… Merlin… you’re wrong… today…” whispered Draco into that warm, hot cave made of silken flesh and his deepest desires, and he no longer cared for anything that lived outside the proximity of their bodes. “Today… tonight… after dinner, meet me… by the front entrance… I… bloody fuck, stop – don’t stop – oh, fuck, yeah… seriously, you need to stop kissing me, I can’t think for shit when you do… Think of something to tell Potter and that Mud… Granger, why they can’t hang out with you this weekend. I need you… elsewhere.”

Ron’s shock at these words was immediately apparent. He actually stopped kissing him and paid him a long, perusing look – and with heaving chest, tempting sweet mouth and those blue eyes looking somewhere into the depth of his soul, Draco thought he’d never seen anyone look more beautiful.

“You’re serious…!” the redhead whispered and a tide of hope replacing disbelief in those mesmerising blue orbs was the most gorgeous sight ever.

“Of course I’m bloody serious!” the blond blurted out, almost dizzy in the inviting and madly frustrating warmth of Ron’s body. “You didn’t honestly think I’d let you ditch me! You threw me a glove… and I needed some time to pick it up,” he smiled sheepishly when he realized his babbling wasn’t making any sense. But he was well past caring. He couldn’t think beyond the wonderful, musky scent of a boy that was just _right_ for him, his mind didn’t come farther than the soft skin, the beginning of a smile in the corners of those soft, sexy lips, and the one thing he _could_ think of just kind of flew out of him:

“I want to count your freckles… by the candle light… and the first morning light,” he said quietly, with feverish passion he didn’t even know he was capable of, and he saw the upturned corners of the lovely mouth blossom into a breathtaking smile. Oh, god, he was too beautiful like this… he left him no choice but to try and kiss the sweet, sinful smile off his face again and the needy, eager kiss melted whatever was left of his reservations. The urgency to do this, to confess what drove him to put everything on the line, the desire to tell him the truth and _say the words_ grew inside of him like a ball of heated, expanding glass.

Ron’s fingers had just cupped his face, sunk into his hair, and with the warm breath teasing his damaged, greedy lips, Draco was ready, as ready as he was ever going to be, and he only needed to catch his breath for long enough to say it... – but then there was banging on the door, and that cranky bitch Granger shouting in a worried voice, asking Ron if he was alright, and somehow it sobered Draco enough to stop his words just short of spilling.

The freezing, dusty classroom was not the right place for something as monumental as that, and if he did this at the wrong time – or with no time – he could lose everything he was holding in such a precarious balance. Not yet. There will be time enough… that is, if Weasley said yes! Merlin, he hasn’t even said yes yet and the Mudblood was already bringing down the door...

“Yes,” Ron whispered simply. “I’ll be there.”

Just like that, as if he was reading his mind, and it was not for the first time that Draco had the strangest feeling that their thoughts spilled into each other, as if they were indeed becoming one. It was scary, magical and strangely intoxicating to be so intimately intertwined with another person.

One last kiss, soft, enticing and full of unspoken promises planted near his ear, hot wet air of his whispered _“thank you”_ making him shiver – and Ron was gone. And Draco didn’t even bother following him into the corridor. He honestly didn’t think he could move. He just slid down the wall like an empty sack, feeling overwhelmed and smitten and all over the place – and so goddamn in love and so stupidly happy he didn’t even care about the goofy grin he could no longer wipe of his face. He knew it would be a while before he’d be presentable, but right now, that was the least of his worries. Right now, he had no worries. He had Ron. He said _yes_. And that was all that mattered.

No one came for him and he briefly wondered what the hell it was that Ron told them, so they left him alone. Or perhaps this was Zabini’s effort? Blaise could already be working on his little plan of making him invisible for the weekend. The boy was worth every sickle and galleon he was paying him. And if anyone _did_ come to check on him, he reckoned he could probably scowl at them and pull off _“we had a bit of a row”_ explanation, as Ron’s greedy mouth and impatient fingers did enough damage to his usually impeccable appearance to make him look as if they had a once again engaged in a brawl that was halted before it could get too serious. Surely, he’d think of something…

He just… didn’t want to get interrupted. He didn’t want to have to get up and walk about the school, pretending this was an ordinary day, when it was anything but; he didn’t want to have to go to classes, he doubted that even the Dark Lord could hold his attention today. He didn’t want to get up and stop thinking what a lucky bastard he was, he didn’t want to ruin the priceless moments of sweet expectation building up inside of him. He simply wanted to sit here quietly, unnoticed, undisturbed, leaning onto the ancient stone wall, which must have seen hundreds like him in the heavy ages of its existence, and he wanted to wait this endless day out. He would wait patiently for the lazy clock to drag its slow two feet near the designated time and he would think of nothing other than how insanely, ridiculously he was in love with Ron Weasley and wonder how in heaven’s name was he supposed to tell him that and not fall apart completely. And shatter his entire life as well. 


	4. In a world of their own

Draco was slowly approaching the Great Hall, trying to look as casual as possible, but even inside of his pockets, where he stashed his clammy hands, he could feel his fingers tremble. He was going to linger around the Great Hall, trying to catch Weasley's attention once he exited, but he wasn’t going to actually enter  – god forbid! He was beyond nervous as it was; dinner was simply not an option. Not a chance in hell that he’d ever be able to shove a single bite of food down his throat – wound up as tightly as he was, he was more likely to throw up what he had so foolishly eaten in the morning. _That’s_ how nervous he was. But Merlin Almighty, so many things could go wrong!

Zabini could fail in getting his friends and enemies out of his way or Snape could have changed his mind and have a last minute inspiration to interfere; Merlin, even the Dark Lord might issue some incomprehensible order that would make their weekend adventure an impossible one… but none of it was nearly as scary as the thought that Weasley might develop a bad case of cold feet. The very thought felt like an icy screw to Draco’s heart, twisting his insides painfully, to the point of nausea, but he still kept rolling the numbing thought in his mind masochistically, as if he was afraid to give the shyest hope a chance, as if he hoped to be prepared for his worst fears to come to life. If Ron didn’t show up… if he didn’t show up…

“Oh, _Merlinthankfuck_ , there you are!” the unmistakeable warm voice interrupted the train of his rambling, feverish thoughts, and he was instantly snatched sideways from the corridor and pulled into a dark alcove just in front of the entrance to the Great Hall that he could have sworn was never there before.

“Shhhh…” Ron warned him, pressing him against the wall. “Snape… we need to get out of sight…” the redhead tried to tell him, but Draco no longer cared for anything or anyone.

He came! God Almighty, he came… And not only did he come – this time, Ron was the one doing the waiting and for some reason Draco was over the moon about that. It may not have been significant to Weasley, but it meant everything to him. It seemed as if Ron was finally done backing off, he was done with denial and with the _“this is not what it seems”_ heart-breaking little games they played for far too long. This time the redhead came here to get him, waiting in tow, to show him that he needed them to happen and that he meant business when he whispered his quiet expression of love into the darkness of their embrace in their private sanctuary, what felt a million years ago. And the very fact that he was here, waiting, made the blond stupidly happy.

“I thought you’d never make it,” Ron whispered into the small fraction of space between their bodies and Draco’s heart nearly exploded in fireworks as his senses remembered the feeling of that warm body arching above him, grinding into him… He didn’t even bother pretending he wanted to hear what Ron had to say. Without a thought to spare he launched himself at those plush, sweet lips, and the exquisite pleasure of tasting the tender flesh once again, feeling it open and welcome him - delicious lips and warm, daring serpent of a tongue alike - made his head swim and his knees soft.

And when a second later Ron gave up talking for a lost cause and kissed him back with gentle devotion and pure, golden desire that said _“I missed you”_ without a single word, the blond lost himself completely in the addictive luxury of tasting his lover again. And he couldn’t get enough… Merlin… he would never be able to get enough…

He felt himself melt against the slow burn of that undoing, insatiable mouth he spent every second dreaming about and there was not a shred of restraint left in his repertoire. Because… _this._ This was his. This was him. Right there inside of the warm, dark embrace, kissing his fiery lover desperately and with hungry urgency, Draco felt more alive and more… _defined_ as ever before. He was born to be this, he was meant to find himself here, wrapped around the boy he came to worship against all odds – and he realized that he could no longer imagine his life without Ron, without that shy, sweet tenderness they shared, without that violent, aching craving that bound them and that incredible warmth that filled every last cell of his body when he was immersed into him.

It was almost as if he was one part of a long-ago broken puzzle and Ron was another, and their bodies and their hearts knew it even when their minds still attempted to ignore it. A perfect contrast to each other on so many levels, yet terribly alike on all others, important ones, they complemented and completed each other perfectly and Draco no longer wanted to fight the overwhelming sensation that he had finally found someone he belonged with – and to.

“Jesus, Draco… I missed you, too… ” Ron murmured straight into their silken, breathless kiss and the blond had a blurry, passing thought how desperate he must seem. And, god, yes, desperate he was... too bloody desperate… Merlin… he just missed this too damn much… Without a thought he sank his teeth into that tempting, delectable lower lip to taste him properly, to show him that he ached for him, to mark him for himself and Ron just moaned quietly, like he couldn’t help it, like he needed it and… oh, bloody hell… _that sound_ … How could he had forgotten about that bloody sound that made his knees into butter and had his swollen cock ooze with most desperate need…

 _MerlinChrist_ , he really needed to get himself under control or he would bloody _maul_ the redhead in his urge to own him once again. Being with Ron always woke up strange possessiveness inside of him that made him brutal. Perhaps it was because it had all started in hatred and hatred felt as right as everything else between them – but he just knew that if he let himself go, he wouldn’t stop until there was blood and bruises and Ron got him underneath forcefully and fucked him into screaming obedience. He wasn’t whole if it didn’t hurt, if only a little, and Ron could give and take as good as he got, and then some.

The redhead never went easy on him, he never treated him as delicate the way so many others did – and it was so bloody liberating, not having to behave and to mind and to present. He could be himself around Ron, slightly raw, a bit insecure, in love with experimenting and testing his boundaries, and in love with him. And he only needed to find a way to tell him. But this was not the place.

As much as he’d love to, Draco knew he couldn’t let himself go completely, they were still in a bloody school, for fuck’s sake, he had to tune it down somehow… fuck if he knew how… but he had to try. Ron’s fingers had already crawled into his hair, treading through his scalp with maddening allure, and Draco realized he had precious few seconds before the redhead started to kiss a slow, mind-boggling trail down his neck and everything would be lost.

The sensitive patch of skin just behind his ear and down his pulse was his weak spot and Ron knew that all too well. Just a slow, sensuous lick over that bit of transparent skin where the bluish pulse tore through the creamy velvet –, only a sense of his tongue working its magic around in small, maddening circles – , a bit of tension provided by those possessive strong fingers, massaging his pulse – and there he was, beyond help, reduced to a whimpering mess, hissing a filthy litany of broken curses and frantic pleas for more. Merlin… he really couldn’t… he shouldn’t let himself go like this… not when he had put so much effort into making Ron’s dream come true. And Ron deserved better.  

“Weasley…” he tried, “Ron…” – but it came out like the world’s most god-desperate and needy whimper for more and… Merlin, this was hard… He tried to force himself to go slower, he tried to figure out how to make him stop – but he was just too fucking aching and desperate for this and this really wasn’t a game he knew how to play. For fuck’s sake, most of the time it was just the other way around – he was all too eager to give in, to use the precious little window of time with his passionate lover the best he could – he didn’t have a clue how the hell to stop him, he didn’t even want to…

Perhaps he should just indulge himself… His crazed body liked that idea; the horny bastard liked it all too much! Perhaps they could do this, get the worst of the edge off here – and…

“You know, they call this The Kissing Pit,” Ron panted against his mouth unexpectedly without even bothering to stop kissing every last trace of sanity out of his blond prey. “Clever bit of magic… it only appears to those who want to snog a bit of steam out, but as soon as they try more… well, if you don’t put those pretty fingers off my arse soon, we’re about to find out if the rumours of what happens to greedy, too-randy offenders are true… Because… fuck, gorgeous… because if you keep doing this, I’m going to embarrass myself in about 30 seconds flat… Merlin… and I doubt that your plans for tonight include outing yourself as shagging a Weasley… and giving yourself over to Snape for recruitment to his weekend survival camp.”

The surge of surprise was strong enough that it finally made Draco break the kiss:

“Snape… what?!” he asked incredulous, not certain if he had heard him right, but before answering his question, Ron quickly stole another slow, delicious kiss that spoke the world of how much he had missed him – and it had almost made Draco not care about the answer.

“I think he finally went bonkers,” the redheard said at long last, shaking head in obvious disbelief. “At the beginning of the class today – you know, the one you so conveniently managed to skip – we were settled in nicely, ready for a cosy shower of insults and point deductions, when from one moment to the other, he started rambling about the _“very real danger to students”_ , who, according to him, are _“too incompetent to save themselves from a cranky Pygmy Puff”_. Apparently, he was finally granted permission by the other Heads of Houses _“to remedy the appalling situation”_ and he would be holding something called “survival camp” this weekend for the poor sods that weren’t fast enough to duck under the table when he started calling out names.

“I literally hid under the remnants of a cauldron Neville managed to explode before the class even started, but Harry and Hermione weren’t so lucky. He’s taking them somewhere… I don’t know where… to some god-fuck village, supposedly to _train_ them – which is probably Snape-ish for _“torment into exhaustion”_ – and they won’t be back before Sunday evening. He told them to take four sets of warm clothes each, because they might get soaked. I couldn’t believe my fucking luck!”

“Knowing him, luck had nothing to do with it,” Draco said quietly, a very bizarre thought nudging at his brain. “Tell me, did Pansy get called?”

“Sure enough, Parkinson got picked out as first and let me tell you, she didn’t go quietly! Not that her squealing helped her much, no. Snape told her in that dooming voice of his that since she’s obviously  reluctant to engage in combat, she’ll be cleaning the latrines – and if she’s lucky enough, the Dark Lord might let her do that if she’s of no other use to him. I think everyone’s misery was slightly less obvious after that, I swear I even heard Zabini chuckle out quietly, and you know what a shady bastard he is. Well, I suppose he had a reason to laugh: Snape skipped him as if he couldn’t even see him.”

And Draco swallowed quietly. Either the Potions professor was willingly sabotaging him – or his skills as Legilimens were much greater than he gave them the credit for. For a brief moment he considered cancelling the whole thing, but Ron, oblivious to his concerns in the semi-darkness of their hiding place, decided this was as good a moment as any to find that sweet little spot under his ear with his warm mouth and Draco promptly forgot his own name. Merlin, Weasley… this boy’s mouth should seriously come with a licence… he had no weapons against him…

“We… we should go…” he whimpered weakly, not entirely certain where that thought even came from nor why should they do any such thing, because fuck if he felt like moving when Ron’s lips teased the shivers out of him with their enticing magic, sending wave after wave of lust down his skin.   

“I was wondering about that,” Ron murmured into his ear and blew a tiny kiss right onto its sensitive shell, chuckling softly when the Slytherin couldn’t stop himself from mewling. “It’s one thing seeking a hiding place from Snape, when one hears him raging down the corridor, but it’s something else entirely to spend half an evening snogging two feet from the entire school walking by, at the mercy of capricious pit that won’t even let you get down to business properly. Whatever you have in mind, I think we should do it while Filch is still locked up in the dungeon.

“Filch is – where?!” Draco asked hazily, not entirely certain he was able to process the information properly so bloody dishevelled and melted into a pile of horny goo.

“Someone locked him in the dungeon,” Ron reported, not without glee, and finally stopped his merciless attack on his senses by pulling the blond closer into his embrace, holding him tight. Draco wasn’t entirely happy with that particular development, but he recognised it was necessary, if he was to start functioning at least in some half-arsed way. So with a resigned sigh he leaned his head onto his chest, trying to gather his fleeing thoughts and to figure out how the hell was he supposed to walk around with a bloody Hippogriff hard-on. Unaware of his predicament, Ron trod his fingers through the blond hair and chuckled into the darkness above him.

“Filch has been banging on the door for at least half an hour now, and everyone seems to be fine with that. Well, I suspect Hermione wouldn’t be, but she’s not around. I suppose the mean bastard isn’t exactly Mr. Popularity around here, going on and on about the good old times of taking the students down to the dungeons – I guess everyone just silently agrees to let him enjoy his beloved dungeons a while longer. So if there’s anywhere you want us to be…”

“Well, yes… that… I suppose… I do… Merlin, you should have stopped kissing me earlier…” Draco pouted, half in despair, half-amused at his own diminished ability to think straight. “I remember telling you earlier to stop kissing me if you want any of my mental functions to still work properly! You know I’m a mess when you do that to me,” he murmured and felt Ron’s lips press a soft kiss and a smile against his hair. “Under the circumstances, you can’t blame a boy for forgetting a little detail such as a weekend getaway he spent half a week planning and half of his monthly allowance on realizing, just because a certain redheaded prat asked it of him…”

“Oh, babe… I’m so going to make it up to you,” Ron murmured with his face still buried into his hair. “Just give me a chance,” he whispered darkly when his lips discovered the sensitive shell of the ear and Draco barely swallowed a most undignified whimper. For Merlin’s sake… this was beyond god-awful, he couldn’t allow himself to fall apart like this! With what was left of his Malfoyness he somehow gathered all of his measly remaining wits about and spoke quickly, before his resolve crumbled.

“I’ve got us a room in Hogsmeade. The owner of the The Hog’s Head Inn doesn’t tend to ask too many questions when faced with a pouch heavy with galleons. We need to be back by Sunday, 10 o’clock in the evening, sharp – don’t ask, you’re better off not knowing,” he warned the redhead and Ron just nodded. Draco’s heart swelled just a little when he saw the awed look in those blue eyes and for the first time in this entire endless, crazy day, he felt as if he could actually do this.

“I’ll sneak out first and hope no one decides to look through the window at that exact moment,” he explained further, in a hurry to have the tedious bit over with and just… be with Ron already, as scary as the thought was. “It is fairly dark already, and with most of our friends possibly out of the way…”

“Or we could go together – and never leave the castle…” Ron suggested calmly and when Draco, completely focused upon revealing his carefully thought-up plans, looked up in surprise, he saw there was a small, mischievous smile playing in the corners of his lover’s pretty mouth.

“A brother of Fred and George here, hello!” the redhead elaborated somewhat proudly in the face of his evident surprise. “I might not be privy to all their pranks and secrets, but they _did_ tell me of at least half a dozen passages leading in and out of school they discovered back in their first year. Most of those are usually useless these days, because Filch knows about them, but since that respectable gentleman isn’t available for housekeeping at the moment…”

“Well, Weasley, frankly, I’m impressed. I’m almost tempted to say that your brothers are bloody geniuses!” Draco blurted out and it was a thought he had been harbouring for a long time already, but he never thought he would have the opportunity to say it out loud.

“Bat-shit crazy… but geniuses nevertheless,” Ron agreed. “Meet me behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy in five minutes. We’ll go together from there. And for fuck’s sake…” he leaned forward unexpectedly, and kissed him softly, “… don’t get ambushed by Snape if he’s still lurking about. I don’t think I could stand losing this,” his fingers playfully brushed against a hard bulge in Draco’s trousers. As the surge of most hopeless lust crashed down the blond’s body, for one dread-filled moment there the Slytherin thought he was actually going to come in his pants. To paraphrase Weasley: _Jesusfuck_ … that boy got cheekier by the meeting… and more irresistible.

~

As soon as Draco plunged into the darkness behind the statue, Ron’s warm hand sought out his. Ron whispered a quiet _Lumos_ and Draco realized they have found themselves at the beginning of a long corridor, leading into the darkness.

"We need to go, sooner or later someone will take pity on Filch, at least an odd professor might," Ron spoke quickly and Draco closed his eyes for a second to adapt to this new reality, but then he nodded resolutely and allowed himself to be pulled behind. It's not like he wasn't used to darkness - there was darkness a plenty down the endless corridors of the Manor - and Ron was right here, with him. He could do this. The passage was narrow and they could barely walk next to each other, but after a while Draco realized that he could think of far worse situations than holding hands with the boy he was completely smitten with, walking through the darkness that didn't seem threatening, but more like a soft wrapping, sheltering the unspoken feelings between them, under the guidance of two wands casting warm light like two narrow rays of hope. Under his snarky marble surface, Draco knew he was hopelessly romantic, though he would rather swallow his tongue than admit it openly. But there was something strangely serene in the surreal scene of strolling down the ancient corridor; and holding the warm, strong hand of the boy that stubbornly came to claim a place in his heart, the blond quietly contemplated the bond that tied them together.

It was real, that much he knew; real, and solid and so very brutal it was scary. He’d do anything to keep Ron; he already went against his upbringing, his Malfoyian pride, his anxiety and everything else that stood in his way to his beautiful, forbidden blue-eyed lover, demolishing it all – and Ron came to meet him half way every time, and again tonight. He reckoned that they were far beyond mere lust and a passing teenage crush. His Gryffindor had already said the words and he… bloody hell, he hoped when the moment comes, he wouldn’t be reluctant to say it, to just blurt it out, for fuck’s sake, and finally let the redhead know how hopelessly he had fallen for him as well.

“Nearly there,” Ron spoke softly as if not entirely certain if he should break a train of his thoughts. “I have no idea where we’ll come out, I’ve never used this one before, Filch is obsessed by running up and down those at least once a day, George told me. Wasn’t worth the risk… until now,” he said quietly and looked at Draco and there was something in those sky-blue eyes and a shy smile that made the blond’s heart beat faster.

“No worries, I’m sure we can do this. I’ve notice we’ve been kind of… unstoppable when we’re working together, Weasley,” he spoke the words filled with his usual snark, but there was none of it in the tone of his slightly shaky voice and the way Ron’s hand closed around him even more tightly, he knew that the redhead saw through his pompous façade.

“Together?” Ron asked when they finally found themselves in front of the heavy door, built into a two-feet thick stone wall and Draco just swallowed and nodded.

“Cover your hair,” the Slytherin had one last epiphany. “We might have to walk some and even when we arrive, they’re expecting me – but you, with that fiery head…”

He shook his head to demonstrate that it was entirely unacceptable to drag Ron down with him should anything go wrong. And right before he reached for the door knob, Ron unexpectedly pulled him closer and pressed a long, enticing kiss onto his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispered and his quiet voice was laden with some unspoken, undoing emotion that made Draco close his eyes and seek out his lips once again. For courage, for trust, for love. They were going to need it all.

~

The door opened so smoothly it was obvious that it was being used regularly and when they stepped outside with their wands raised, they realized they had opened a part of the wall in the currently abandoned corridor of a pub, leading to the bathrooms for the guests. The door closed behind them so seamlessly that Draco wasn’t entirely certain if he was going to be able to find it once the time came, but he decided to worry about that when it did. But from where they were standing he could see the large stuffed head of a hog hanging on the wall and he could barely believe his luck. How was that even possible? It seemed as if even the gods were on his side, smoothing a way for him to be with the boy he had so desperately fallen for – there could be no other explanation for their serendipity.

“Wait here,” he instructed Ron and went to find the person in charge. The tall, beefy looking wizard with a long beard he stumbled upon when he turned the corner, was sporting an apron and the disgruntled, bitter expression on his strangely familiar face made him look like a person Draco would normally prefer to avoid. But he had no choice under the circumstances and he approached him reluctantly, addressing him in a quiet, yet adamant voice he heard Father use when he was out and about on sensitive business.

“I have an agreement with the owner about renting the room for two for the weekend,” he said firmly and tried to mask that he was in no way as confident as he wished to project. “I’ve sent a couple of owls and I’ve paid upfront. Is it possible to speak to the owner? My agreement is directly with him.”

The vibrant blue eyes, again strangely familiar, were immediately on him, as if trying to burn a hole into the darkness Draco’s face was submerged in under the hood of his coat, but the tall man nodded with little hesitation and pointed towards the obscure set of stairs on the very corner Draco had turned.

“Your agreement was with me,” he spoke in a deep, raspy voice and somehow his tone spoke of his true age better than his appearance did. He must have been quite a bit older than he looked. “I’m the owner. The name’s Aberforth and if you and your… guest want to avoid the thick of the crowd, you should follow me up those right now – rooms are in the floor above, just two, really – and I would advise you to keep your mouths shut and speak to no one. Well, no one but me, but I prefer that you avoid that as well.”

Ron must have been listening in, because he appeared from behind the corner directly and followed them up the stairs quietly, without saying a word.

“There,” the sturdy man handed Draco an ancient looking key. “You’ll find no luxury inside, but it’s been kept clean and it’s warded to give you privacy. I will make sure you don’t starve. Best food in the village, lads, you’re in the luck!” he said somewhat proudly and then quickly made to leave.

“Oh, and one more thing,” the man turned around when he was already half way down the stairs. “Whatever you two are up to – I don’t want to know. But it better not be some funny business that ends up going awry and leaving me to clean up your mess, this Inn’s reputation is bad enough as it is.”

“No funny business,” Draco choked out, strangely intimidated by the unspoken threat in those uncommonly clever blue eyes. “We just…”

“And no lies either,” the man, Aberforth, interrupted him abruptly. “I don’t need to know. I don’t _want_ to know. Should you get caught, you can offer your explanation to my brother. I think he might be more sympathetic to your predicament that you’re aware of, considering his… preferences,” he chuckled unexpectedly and then he was gone for good.

Draco couldn’t open the door of the room fast enough and he pulled Ron in as quickly as he could.

“What the actual fuck was that?!” he whispered somewhat in panic, because the inn owner was just plain scary.

“I think _that_ , my darling Pureblood-who-doesn’t-have-gossiping-parents, might have been Dumbledore’s brother,” Ron explained, looking uncommonly calm, as if slightly stunned. “According to my great-aunt Muriel, he’s been at odds with the headmaster since forever… and I believe he might just have told us that his brother preferred male company as well,” the redhead said slowly, thoughtfully, causing the blond to simply freeze in shock.

But Ron didn't seem too concerned. Without further ado he launched himself on top of the ancient looking yet immaculately clean bed and it creaked unhappily under his weight.

“Oh, Merlin… Heaven… pure Heaven… so soft…” he sighed only with a bit of theatrical exaggeration and when he rolled around to bury his nose into the sheets, only to announce _“You won’t believe that but they smell of jasmine… best smell ever!”,_ some of his childlike joy somehow rubbed off on Draco and he could feel the blood slowly returning into his stiff limbs. Bloody Gryffindors! Weren’t they ever shocked out of their skin?! How did it feel to have that much courage, to be so carefree and just… live for the moment?!

And when Ron leaned back onto his elbows, stretched across the bed, all long muscled limbs and tousled fiery hair, looking like sin personified, looking at _him_ with a small, inviting smile, the blond had a feeling that he was about to find out. The redhead only needed to tilt his head and ask enticingly – _“Join me?”_ – in a husky, god-sexy voice, and every sane thought and legitimate worry Draco had ever had, flew straight out of the window. He had been waiting for this for too long, Ron was too beautiful like this… and if it all went to hell after this weekend, he had better make sure it was at least going to be worth it.

The Slytherin’s heart was beating somewhere in his throat as he approached the bed slowly, feeling as if he was about to reach the invisible milestone. When he stopped by the bed, not certain if he was supposed to cross into this scary new domain, Ron slowly got up in a sitting position as if he was willing to be right there with him, as if he wanted to make sure not to give destructive insecurity a chance to settle in. His large hands closed around the blond’s narrow shoulders and it seemed as if the Gryffindor understood how badly Draco needed to be kept together.

“Here… let me do that for you,” the redhead offered in a soft voice and his fingers slowly crawled towards the ornamented silver clasp, keeping the blond's coat bound together. Draco simply nodded his consent and closed his eyes to let himself fully enjoy the intimate sensation of being undressed by Ron Weasley.

He felt the heavy coat slide to the ground and then those warm hands once again came to rest motionless around his shoulders as if Ron wanted to give him time to consider. Only then Draco dared to open his eyes and he found himself looking straight into the magical blue orbs, aglow with tenderness and unspoken devotion like starlit midnight skies. And when Ron leaned his head forward to press a tiny, warm kiss into the corner of his mouth, Draco’s breath hitched almost as if in a sob.

“You know I love you,” Ron said quietly, pulled him down on the bed next to him and pressed another one of those innocent, soft kisses that felt like sun-rays in the other corner of his mouth. “Thank you for giving me a chance to finally say that… even though I know you can’t. Not yet. Perhaps never. But it’s alright, you see… because I know,” he said softly and one of his hands came to rest on top of Draco’s fluttering heart, warming up his shivering skin.

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t,” he continued with down-to-earth determination. “And I don’t need your words as much as I need you to be here with me… for me, because I don’t have a single dream that doesn’t begin and end with you,” he smiled his god-sexy smile at his stunned, smitten blond lover when their lips finally met in a slow, luxurious kiss and Draco exhaled the shaky, warm breath he didn’t even know he was holding, straight into the heavenly mouth.

“But I want to say it,” the blond heard himself whisper and he didn’t even remember giving his mouth the permission to talk. “I just don’t know if I can… and how… not to make a mess out of things,” he heard his stupid heart blurting out one declaration after another and felt the colour rush to his cheeks at the sight of blue eyes alight with a thousand sapphire stars at the unexpected revelation.

“There’s been so much between us,” he tried to explain in a shaky voice and he hated himself for sounding so fragile. But this was Ron and he could never lie to him; here, by his side was the only person he could be himself with and once he started pouring his heart out, he found himself unable to stop. “I can barely remember a time before we met and from the first moment, I've always had feelings for you. Only... most of them weren't good, whoever is to blame… but it’s what I’m made of. I know how to hate you… I’ve done that, hating you and your family, for as long as I can remember. I excel at that, I’ve been taught little else.

“And then I discovered that for some bloody reason you turn me on,” he let out a tiny, shy smile and had Ron kiss it off his lips.

“Bloody scary, that… but I’ve accepted it since and I don’t think I can hide this… unfortunate circumstance even if I wanted to. And I thought… I’m a teenager and you know how we get… someone bloody coughs and we’re sporting a hard-on! So for a while I thought… I had hoped, it was that. Because lust… I can do. Lust I can live with. You are, after all, objectively speaking, a fine specimen of a young male, you’re very… vibrant and quite grown into your manly form already and… oh, fuck it, you’re a bloody sex god on endless legs with an arse that should have its own fan club and I’m fairly certain I’m not the only one who wakes up with their hand around their cock and the image of you in their head,” he said boldly and at the sight of violent rush of blood to Ron’s face, he added rather naughtily:

“And that’s only the boys!” which earned him a mumbled _“Shush, you, you know I care for no one but you”_ and another tender kiss that gave him a silent permission to go on.

“So, as much of a shock as it was after that… our first time, I couldn’t even start feeling properly guilty about it, just stunned and angry over my own… stubborn preferences.  But as you so cleverly discovered – lust wasn’t the right name for what was between us either. And if it’s what you think it is…” he swallowed and looked straight into his brilliant blue eyes with all the courage he was ever going to have.

“If it’s… _love_ … then I don’t know much about that… and I’m so, _so_ _bloody frightened_ I’ll blunder it somehow! And I hate it how… weak and without a compass I am… and how scared and… _in need_ it makes me feel… In need of you. I lose myself around you… and I find myself in you, but it's like... I’m a different person at the bottom of your eyes… I’m all those things I didn’t know I could be – caring, jealous, yearning… and all those other terrible things that make me so dreadfully vulnerable. And it’s all because of this _love_ … this bloody… permeating feeling that is all over me… I can’t control it, and I can’t get rid of it and it’s just plain petrifying how much of myself I have to give away and how it’s changed me already… And the worst of it is… that I want it,” he finally blurted out all the confusing truth and his messed up feelings.

But then he saw Ron give him one of those beautiful, soft smiles that lit up his eyes, and feeling strangely heady and liberated, Draco unexpectedly felt his own face stretch into a smile as well and he hastily spoke out his quiet, priceless gem of a truth:

“I want to love you, Ron Weasley. It’s beyond scary and the most awesome thing ever. And I do. I love you,” his words disappeared into the tight, warm embrace Ron locked him in and he whispered his finishing thought into the loving, comforting darkness around him: “I love you… I hate and want and love you… it’s all for you. I’m all for you.”

“Don’t… Jesus… Merlin, man…” he heard the redhead’s voice, strangely strangled, as if Ron wasn’t quite successful in keeping his feelings at bay. “You don’t have to undo me every bloody time, you know. Once was enough. Hearing you say all that…bloody hell, man… you sure know how to make amends. I’m all in pieces now… fuck… I just need… I guess I need a moment… with you. I need you.”

Ron kissed him once again, deeply, slowly, almost forcefully, to drink his devotion and quiet surrender off his lips, to seal the unfathomable bond between them, and to meet him half way with his heart.

“How could you ever think I’d give you up?” the blond asked heatedly, dizzy from a sudden rush of heady love he felt flowing at him through Ron’s desperate, mind-boggling kisses. “You don’t have a clue what you do to me… in how many ways you undo me… I’m always going to hate you a little bit for making me love you so much. I let my guard down for you, you knocked down all my defences with that trustful heart of yours and when you left… you left me heartbroken and without a choice. I’m a Malfoy… and Malfoy’s only love once. I’ll never give you up. Even if I have to wait beyond this life to be with you.”

And one hopelessly wanton whimper later, coming from Ron, Draco was rolled around to find himself underneath that wonderful muscular body he spent so many hours fantasising about. And there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Don’t say that,” Ron said quietly, almost pleadingly, pressing their foreheads together and kissing him with reckless abandon that made the Slyther’s blood run wild. “We’ll find a way, I know we will… With your Slytherin wit and my insane Gryffindor guts… we’ll get there somehow. But I don’t want to think of this now; I only want to think of you… and of the ways of thanking you for making my dreams come true when I nearly gave them up for lost.”

His long, skilled fingers found a way under the collar of Draco’s school shirt and slipped across his skin like fiery serpent and it made Draco gasp and exhale a slow, torturous moan into the hot wet mouth, stealing his every breath away. The warm, calloused digits danced towards the tiny buttons to beg access and the blond breathed a single, strained _“Yes”_ into the thick, electric air around them to give himself up completely, of his own will, no doubts and excuses in sight. He chose to belong to Ron and there was no turning back now.

“Such a beautiful, good boy…” whispered his redheaded master and his warm breath and strolling fingers teased Draco’s skin into goosebumps. “Letting me do that… I’ve always wanted to do that…I've always wanted to undress you… slowly… watch you get revealed by the candlelight… one perfect, sublime detail of you after another… with no rush and nowhere to be… with all the time in the world to admire you… and to worship you, the way you deserve to be worshipped,” he sank his head down onto the fragile, endless arch of his lover’s creamy neck and he caressed it slowly, lovingly, making the blond throw his head back in a sudden surge of ecstasy.

“You’re so bloody gorgeous,” Ron breathed in the sensitive shell of his ear quietly, heatedly, as his warm, adept fingers slid like a snake down the length of the crispy white shirt, slowly coming undone one tiny button after another. “Just look at you… look at you, precious… I daydream about this swan neck of yours all the time… the way you offer it to me, trusting, wanting, making those small breathless sounds that drive me crazy… Merlin, I get all hot and bothered, picturing you naked in front of me, under me, all mine for the taking… _Jesusfuck_ , you drive my mind towards such heavenly filth… you have no idea…

“Sometimes I can see the outline of your rosy, tiny nipples through that thin fabric of your schools shirt and I remember how much you like having them licked… teased… nibbled on… all the way to the point of pain, until they’re nothing but a pair of shiny red buttons I could just swallow… and it makes my cock leak to know I can make you come like that. You like a bit of edge, lovely, I know you do; I see how you come looking for it, I can feel you crave it until you get just the dose you can take.”

“Yesssss… I… please…” was the only whimpered sound Draco was capable of as those long, calloused  fingers brushed against his nubs, first one, then another, and it barely took more than sweet, torturous expectation to have them erect and ready to melt like candy in Ron’s delicious mouth.

He had no idea when the redhead managed to open his shirt, but it was decidedly open now, revealing the taut, lean body of a Seeker and Ron whispered a wanton _“Fuck, love…”_ just before he launched himself at two little peaks of lust breaking through the marble landscape of the flawless skin. And Draco could not hold back a broken scream if he tried.

“ _Christfuck_ , yes…” Ron panted above him and Draco keened and arched his body upwards to offer himself to his fiery god, naked and vulnerable and raw, to have himself taken apart and devoured and split open and fucked into a begging, screaming mess.

The Slytherin yelped once again when the hot wet mouth devoured the outline of his swollen cock, still painfully captured by his tight school trousers, drilling a fucking hole into them. But Ron just chuckled softly, with delight, and his teasing, slick tongue slowly, mercilessly pressed against the wet spot in the fabric, as if desperate to finally meet the throbbing, leaking cock underneath. Draco’s hips instantly bucked forward and he barely managed to hold back from orgasming.

“Fuck… you bastard,” he gasped and sunk his aristocratic fingers into the fiery hair to at least gain some semblance of control.

“Oh, yeah… soon…” Ron murmured darkly and scraped his teeth lightly at the mounting bulge only to have Draco’s bony fingers dig into his silken hair with force and the Slytherin hissed:

“You fucking Gryffindor tease… Get on with it, or I swear I’ll… _fuckyeahplease_ …”

Ron just licked a long trail up and down the row of strained, bursting buttons on his trousers and whispered:

“Who’s a tease now? Buttons, babe… seriously? If it was a zipper, I could have opened it… with my teeth… and have you in my mouth already, but you just _want_ to be difficult, don’t you… Such an evil little thing you are… you deserve to be punished… I’m going to teach you a lesson… and I plan to start with that perfect round bum of yours… fill it full of hard, mean cock… and you’re going to let me… because you love it… don’t you, my beautiful serpent prince… you love to be filled with cock…”

“Yes… I… _ohyesgodpleaseyes…_ ” was all the eloquence the blond was reduced to, because Ron had done the unexpected savage thing and simply tore through the last of the offensive buttons to get to his cock. Draco felt his juices surge like a geyser. The wonderful, luscious lips had opened and his swollen, desperate prick slammed in as if looking for salvation that could only be found at the bottom of that soft, obliging mouth that knew all of his secrets and long denied needs. His heavy shaft was throbbing in the rhythm of Ron’s mouth, the slick, tight cave moving with him and around him, the gentle tongue drawing a maddening pattern of ancient seduction across every sensitive nerve, bursting to explode and he world narrowed down to a most primal need to come. Nothing was more important right now… he needed to come and he begged for it in a litany of stuttered pleas and filthy words that could make his mother faint.

“Such a dirty little boy,” Ron whispered when he let him out for a second, only to swirl his tongue around the thick, purple crown, glistening in the candlelight in a mess of their juices. “Such a beautiful cock… Shall we make your beautiful leaking cock come, my pretty little boy-toy? I think it would look gorgeous, dressed in its own come, like the icing on the cake… I love the icing, oh, yes, I do… I’m going to lick it all off, I’ll smear it all over my mouth and then I’ll let you have some, my dirty little boy… you love licking your own come off my face, don’t you… you love your own taste, you love kissing it off my bruised lips… such a depraved little boy… I love sucking depravity out of you, drop by drop, my filthy little prince… on my knees, in front of you… licking at your fantasies, teasing them out with my tongue…”

His soft lips slipped around the crown of Draco’s cock against a most godless yelp and they closed around it tightly, a hot, wet, perfect fit. Tender, unforgiving mouth began suckling on the sensitized  tip of Draco’s cock and the sudden surge of lust was so intense, the blond found a helpless shout impossible to hold back. When the lovely redhead closed his eyes as if he was getting off from feeding on the heavenly elixir, the Slytherin’s hips moved as in a trance, in a hopeless attempt of burying him deeper into the godless cave of his redheaded devil, making a slave out of him.

But Draco felt his heart might have had an orgasm before his cock did, it went positively wild at the brain-melting sight of his mesmerising lover teasing the pearls of come out of his spoiled slit with the sweet, slick tongue like a hungry kitten, and with the long auburn eyelashes closed as if in worship Ron was a most mind-shattering, decadent sight ever. The blond was riding the very edge of bliss, his body covered in perspiration and screaming to fall apart, his heavy cock begging for deliverance together with his unruly tongue, but he couldn’t, couldn’t, not without…

“Look at me…” he blurted out, whimpered really, not knowing where this came from and why, he just knew he needed it so badly it was making his heart burst. “Please… I need...”

And then Ron’s eyes opened and the bluest brilliance reached Draco’s face together with a soft, beautiful smile and the redhead whispered with a hot, moist breath holding a key to the dam of his release:

“Love you my prince… love you… _so much_ , my love… always.”

“ _Christfuck_ … Ron!!!” he bellowed his name, feeling his body ripped apart by the monstrous tension in his balls erupting, the hot charge rushing against the melting tip of his throbbing cock where the supple red mouth waited patiently to be spoiled with his load. Draco’s hips arched off the bed with the vicious force of his ecstasy and for a while he could see nothing, hear nothing, sense nothing but a blur of most brutally exquisite pleasure and starlit darkness he had ever experienced.

“Ron… fuck… Ron…” was the first thing he heard, when his senses returned and he was shocked to find out it was him, chanting the breathless words as if his gruff voice suddenly ran out of colour.

“We didn’t get to _that_ bit,” the voice murmured by his ear and he slowly became aware of his surroundings, of the addictive, earthy scent of the man, wrapped around him, of the hard, hot bulge pressing against his thigh and he struggled to catch his breath for long enough to tell him…

“Just… give me… a bloody moment… you insatiable beast, we’ll get there… bloody hell… were you trying to off me, then?”

“Mhm… it’s a secret family recipe what to do with a Malfoy… should we encounter a naked specimen,” Ron chuckled, kissing his neck leisurely and the blond, as shattered as he was, felt his cock taking sudden interest in its favourite activity.

“Merlin, man… you’ll be the death of me…” the blond moaned, helpless against his hormone-dazed body, which apparently developed a crazed mind of its own and foolishly thought it could do this... once more… so soon.

“I love looking at you like this…” Ron mumbled, his hot breath caressing his ruined prey’s ear and lazily toying with his sensitive earlobe until he felt the unmistakable shiver. “Bloody gorgeous sight if there ever was one, lovely… stretched like a lazy kitten across the bed… can’t beat the sight of an utterly debauched Malfoy… I feel like fucking you all the time, babe… you’re going to have to let me at some point… or my balls just might explode all over this virgin velvet of your skin… now that would be a mess… my come all over you… this fucking gorgeous, ravaged body of yours covered in it… pooled on your stomach… sipping into the mattress between your thighs… I might have to dip my hand in it and rub it all over this moonlight landscape of your skin… all the way to your nipples… let them have some… I know you like them wet and hard…”

“ _JesusMerlin_ , Ronald… this fucking filthy tongue of yours could make a saint come at the sight of deadly sin…” Draco hissed, his cock already so hard, he realized he lost the game spectacularly. But perhaps he could at least give something back… He pushed his fingers into the silken hair and pulled a little, just the way he knew the redhead liked it.

“You know I can’t resist seeing your balls bursting at my entrance…” he murmured seductively and he let his long fingers move towards that wonderful hard flesh, pressed tightly against him. "I can't wait to have the rest of you buried so deep inside of me that I can almost taste you in my mouth," he whispered, licked the shell of his ear with his obliging, pliant mouth and mewled happily when he felt the Gryffindor’s breath hitch.

“You know I can’t get enough of that throbbing fat shaft of yours splitting me open... driving into me like the beast you are and keep pounding me crazy… again and again and again… so swollen and juicy, it looks painful… pumping me full of come, about to spill… making me forget my own name… You fuck me so well, my big, gorgeous love… I just want to scream myself hoarse with your name on my lips…”

“Fuck, Draco…” Ron whispered in a lost voice and the blond felt a surge of foolish pride, mixed with most ungodly arousal spread to the every sparkling ending of his nerves. He moaned like a whore in need a moment later when he felt his redheaded god rise above him, because he loved nothing better than to yield to this lovely creature born to dominate him.

“Ron…” he whimpered as the long fingers found his crack and scrapped across the tender surface of his hole. “I missed you, Ron… I missed you so very much, you bastard. How dare you leave me… how dare you leave me without?! I want you inside, my savage redheaded devil... I’ve been so empty without you… I want you to fill me with your hot, heavy cock, make me ache and burn and want… make me come like a fucking beast… make me come alive the way only you know how… Yesss… oh, yes, like this… spread me, shove it inside, fuck me, fuck me, Ron…”

“You… fucking… bastard…” panted Ron, his fingers working at full speed on making room for his throbbing, purple cock, oozing desire to the point of pain. “Such a filthy mouth, Slytherin… such a filthy, debauched sweet mouth, my little serpent prince… How about I shut your mouth with my tongue, you depraved little thing… How about I gag you with it and you can suck on it, while I’m busy opening you up, hm…? Oh, yeah, baby, that’s the sound I want to hear… these helpless beastly moans of aching need is what I wank to… Such a debauched little boy-toy you are… that beautiful, boyish body made of virgin innocence… and such a sex-crazed, needy slut underneath the polished marble surface… Shall I give it to you, my little virgin slut? Shall I? Tell me, you want it, my little whore, tell me where you want it…”

“Yes… fuck… I want… now… in… inside, Ron… _nowgodpleasefucknow_ …” the blond babbled incoherently, spreading out for him wantonly and closing his legs behind that magnificent arse to pull him in. He never needed someone as much in his life and when he felt the tip of his cock pressing at his entrance and the long, calloused fingers of the giant fist closing around his neck, he moaned like a bitch in need, because this… yes… this was what his restless dreams and every furious wank he’s ever had were made of.

“You have no idea how often I dream about getting you underneath me… about closing my fingers around that lovely endless neck of yours… and just enter you, my lovely,” the redhead whispered. “I want to be holding tight, feel that hot surge of life going wild under my fingers while I violate that inviting, blooming, hungry hole of yours… just like this… You like this, beautiful?… you like it when I slam my cock against that sweet spot inside of you that makes you scream my name and beg with those breathless filthy words? I whisper them to myself again when I wank, you know… Oh, yes, like this… you know how I love to hear you beg… makes me want to thrust inside you like a fucking brute and fuck that little piece of heaven inside you so hard they’ll hear you scream in fucking Romania when you come, you decadent little bastard…

“You like your Ron going wild inside you, don’t you… you like it… no one’s ever going to fuck you so hard… no one… I’m going to ruin you for everyone… just like you ruined me… Jesus, gorgeous, I’m so full of come it hurts, I need to give it to you so badly… Why the fuck did you have to let me wait for so long?... Touch yourself, c’mon, nothing makes me come faster than watching you wank… _Merlinfuck_ , yes… like this… oh, _godyes_ … just like… oh, motherfuck, Draco… you sweet little piece of arse, I’m so fucking close… give me something… anything… one of your sweet little nothings that make me lose it… I need…”

“JesusMerlinfuck, don’t stop fucking me…” the blond spoke hoarsely, with urgency; wanking furiously and staring straight into the magnetic blue eyes that stole his soul, his sanity and his heart.  “Fill me up, Ron… spill yourself inside me… I want to own you; I want to _be_ you, a part of you, yours, and I’ve been waiting for so long… too damn long… You need to know… you were my first… my first… my only… and so help me god, you will be my last… I know no one but you, Ron. I want no one but you… I love you… I…”

“Draco!! _GodfuckDraco_ …”

The wanton, desperate howl tore from the redhead’s mouth the second the blond chocked on his words and flooded the tight space between them with his bursting cock, spurting long strands of pearly come across the creamy skin, covered in sheen of perspiration and glittering like marble landscape in the candlelight. The solitary sound of Ron’s cry of surrender still echoed from the walls of the tiny, rustic room, the sole, humble witness to their love, when his body arched backwards, and his hips slammed forward to make his cock explode and empty its load deep inside of the blond devil he came to love so much it hurt.

“ _DracoDracoDraco_ , fuck, love… fuck, my love…”

Ron collapsed on top of his blond lover, with his eyes closed, out of breath and his heart pounding wildly, feeling utterly boneless and destroyed and on top of the fucking world at the same time.

“Merlin, Draco…”

The blond wasn’t doing much better. His eyes had literally rolled back in his head and he still seemed to be riding out his orgasm somewhere in the world beyond reality and it must have been a wonderful, uncharted land indeed, judging by the soft, blissful smile spreading through his face, lighting it up from inside. Ron stared at him, mesmerised, in love, unable to look away, with his heart beating furiously at the numbing, proprietary feeling that swept over him at the sight of his lover’s decadent, ethereal beauty, framed by the long, soft shadows of the golden candlelight.

“Mine,” he whispered fiercely, and put a hand on his chest to feel the erratic pace of his heart whisper out its secrets under his warm touch. His fingers then moved on to cup his cheek and he kissed him lightly, lovingly, as if he was afraid to break the enchanted illusion.

“Yours,” Draco said simply and when Ron lifted his head up from a kiss, he saw the silver eyes looking straight at him, filled with unfathomable tenderness. “Never forget that,” he whispered. “Whatever happens… never forget.”

“How could I?” Ron asked quietly, suddenly a knot in his throat. “You have no idea how you make me feel… no idea. I never thought I’d find someone to make me feel like I’m a million galleons worth… Everything else seems to fade into the background when you look at me, really look at me, with those enigmatic silver eyes of yours and you’re so lovely and beautiful that it makes my heart ache and I’m almost afraid to love you back, because surely, I was never meant to have something so precious. How could I ever forget? I’ll go to my grave knowing that I loved you.”

He put his head into the crook of his lover’s neck, into the soft nest made of slick skin and exotically scented blond hair and he closed his eyes, looking for a refuge for the love he came to foster and was perhaps never meant to keep.   

 “Sine qua non,” Draco whispered softly after a while, with his fingers treading gently through the lustrous red hair and when the redhead lift his face up a tiny bit, with a questioning look in those sky-blue eyes, the blond just gave a small smile and said quietly:

“It’s an old saying that runs in my family… It means… you are essential, you’re the one I can’t live without.”

And Ron kissed him softly, chastely into the corner of his mouth, before putting his head back into the crook of his neck, professing quietly:

“I can’t say it in such a fancy way… but you’re the first thing I think of when I wake up, and I close my eyes thinking of you. I reckon it’s got to count for something, even if it’s only in plain English… and in my heart.”

Draco felt his heart beating somewhere in his throat and for a moment he got that strange foreboding, out-of-place, out-of-time feeling that this was their moment, the one to seize and to remember, because when the tiny fraction of time in the humble refuge of their love was up - they might never get another. He couldn't stand the thought, yet it had made him strangely reckless and desperate. If this was indeed it... if this was all they were going to get, he could not afford to waste a single moment. So he turned his head towards his redhead, kissed him enticingly, lovingly and once he felt his silken lips respond, he found it impossible to let him go. He would not think of anything but of the magic they were, when they were together. 

“Merlin, I love kissing you,” he murmured into the delightful, lustful, increasingly intense kiss. “You’ve got the softest, most kissable mouth ever and if I could just patent that thing you do with your tongue, we’d never have to worry about galleons again… mmmm, yeah… that one… God, Weasley, I confess you will turn me into a sex addict… I’m quite the toy for you, am I not, my deceitful blue-eyed devil…? Perhaps… with a bit of persuasion… I could be tricked into another round… with that skilful mouth you possess… and… oh, god, yes… that tongue… Merlin, man… this is worse than a drug… I could live a thousand years and never get kissed like that… Weasley… Ron… get over here… Jesus, stop… don’t stop… Now, you won’t be going anywhere, you ginger brute, finish what you started… oh, yes… Ronald Weasley, Sir… have I mentioned that I loved you…? Here, in case you forgot, pumpkin head: I love you, Ron.”

And once he had said it, he couldn't stop saying it again and again, as if he wanted to make sure that Ron remembered, no matter what was coming. He said it into his mouth, when he made him come, he whispered it into his chest when he allowed himself to be cradled to sleep. He woke up with those words on his lips and he whispered it again, desperately, when the dusk of the second day was falling like a smothering mist onto the small room above the pub in the Scottish Highlands. Parting was upon them and Draco Malfoy was never more in love. 


	5. Hope for the future

“Do we really have to go already?” Ron asked quietly for the millionth time, silently pleading for another tiny extension in the paradise they’ve turned their weekend refuge to. “Can’t we…?”

“It’s time, I’m afraid,” Draco sighed quietly, desperately struggling to find some of his Malfoyian sternness and hide how wrecked he felt underneath. They’ve been huddled together on the bed for the past hour, turned towards each other, sporadically throwing miserable looks towards the merciless clock counting down the moments before they would have to abandon a fragile shelter they found for their love.

“It’s absolutely imperative that we leave at least half an hour before ten,” Draco had said adamantly at the first signs of darkness crawling through the windows, but a few desperate kisses later it was _“Alright, perhaps we can make it in 25 minutes”_ , and then _“Oh, fuck it, twenty, but we’ll have to run”,_ and after that they both knew that they were out of time.

“I don’t want to leave,” Ron spoke out both their minds, and his quiet voice was so wretched that it simply broke the Slytherin’s heart.

“But we have to,” the blond said softly, knowing that he was going to have to be the firm one here. It was he, who had made an agreement with Snape and it was one he knew he could not afford to break. Snape was not a man who took broken promises well.

“I know… I know,” Ron said miserably. “Harry and Hermione will be back as well, if they’re not already, and sooner or later I will be missed. And trust me, you don’t want my family looking for us; wizards in bloody Australia would find out we went missing! But I still don’t want to leave…” he repeated miserably, pleadingly.

“I…” For once the Slytherin was lost for words. He didn’t want to return back to their ordinary lives either. He had never felt more alive and absurdly happy than in those few stolen hours they had spent in their little spot of Heaven. They fucked each other into exhaustion – Merlin, did they fuck, there wasn’t a spot in his body that wasn’t marked in some way or another by his Gryffindor beast! – and then they held each other through quiet, painfully intimate moments. And… they talked, for hours and hours at the time, which surprised Draco, because he could not fathom prior to their getaway what it was they could really talk about – yet talk they did, and it was wonderful, liberating, sweet and funny, sometimes hurtful and so damn easy.

They went on and on about everything and nothing, listening to each other’s private, sometimes heart-wrenching confessions, spoken in a quiet voice and followed by some more cuddling, and exchanging little fragments of their lives, that couldn’t be more different – yet strangely similar, simply from the fact that they were both purebloods, raised by the principled parents. They already knew their differences, but they were both shocked how very alike they were.

And for the rest, they manoeuvred as carefully as they could around the touchy subject, such as their friends, their allegiances and their choices, but inevitably ended up fighting over any of those and – equally inevitably – closed their arguments with long, thorough, heavenly sex that left them both without a feisty bone in their bodies.

They knew they belonged to each other without a single word spoken – and now their little daydream in paradise was about to end and neither of them really knew what to do about it and how to cope. At the moment, they were not coping too spectacularly.  

Ron leaned in to kiss him once more and it was so sweet and needy and desperate that Draco didn’t have a heart to tell him to stop. He felt his resolve melting and he knew that it was just a question of time before he will close his eyes and tell the evil world, that wouldn’t let him keep his redhead, to fuck off.

“Please…” he whispered in the last attempt to save them. “You’ll get me in trouble..”

And it worked like a charm on his Gryffindor. Ron had moved away, albeit slowly and the longing in those blue eyes was almost too hard to take for Draco.

“I suppose we must, then…” Ron said quietly and the heavy sadness in his voice weighed the blond down like a lead cloak.

“It’s not for good,” the Slytherin said quickly, his heart in his throat. “This goodbye… it’s not forever. We’ll find a way, honestly, we will. I’ll think of something, just… oh, please, for fuck’s sake, Ron, don’t be so sad, I can’t stand to see you so miserable!” he finally blurted out at the sight of the redhead’s eyes swimming.

“I know,” Ron tried and he even managed to push out a small, broken smile that was so forced and wretched that it hit the blond in the chest as if he was punched and he momentarily ran out of air. He didn’t think he could bear it. Perhaps Snape’s wrath wouldn’t be so hard to take, perhaps he could slither his way out of this one.

But Ron had already closed his eyes as if he couldn’t look him in the eye while he did this, then with a heavy, determined sigh he pressed a quick peck into the corner of his mouth and got out of bed swiftly, as if he couldn’t trust himself if he tried to delay any longer.

“Let’s do this,” he said quietly, looking at him with all the bravery of a Gryffindor. “Let’s get going. I can’t see you get punished on my account.”

“Well… yes, very well,” Draco said quietly and his rational brain grabbed the opportunity to do the right thing, while his heart struggled and screamed in his chest how very wrong this was. He was nearly breathless with misery and it felt as if the tight ring of despair and anxiety was going to suffocate him. He _hated_ doing this. But as soon as he managed to get out of the bed and straighten his clothes as if he was riding on some Malfoyian autopilot of keeping up appearances, Ron's long fingers wrapped around the palm of his hand and they were so warm and soothing that he looked up in absolute surrender and let his rational brain abandon him completely. If Ron were to ask him at that moment to stay, he would have complied without a single objection.

But the redhead simply squeezed his fingers gently and spoke quietly:

“Together, yeah? Always. Through this as well. We’ll manage. We’ll beat the odds. We’ll be back one day.”

“Yes… I…” Draco was unable to speak and his fingers shook something terrible inside the big, warm grasp of his lover’s hand. “I don’t know if I can…” he finally admitted in a shaky voice and he was instantly pulled into a warm embrace and he closed his eyes to the sound of Ron’s heartbeat.

“I can’t either,” Ron said quietly. “But _we_ can. Together. We’ll weather this, love. We will… we have to. I can’t go through life without hope of ever holding you like this again. So I _know_ we can. What we have is priceless… and totally worth a shot and I refuse to give it up.”

His words, as quiet as they were, were strangely wild and defiant; the words of a true Gryffindor who’d beaten the odds before and tackled everything life had thrown at him – and just kept on winning. The surge of hope suddenly erupting in Draco’s chest was as unexpected as it was liberating and he instantly felt his anxiety relax and a strange reckless, stubborn feeling flood him from the inside. Ron was right, of course. No one said love was easy – and they were destined to nurture a particularly difficult specimen – but that was no reason to give up. What they had _was_ priceless, and in his book, absolutely worth fighting for. In the end, they may win or they may lose, but they won’t go down without a fight. This… parting – a temporary one, he was sure of that! – was just a small obstacle in the way of their love and they were going to ride over it like a freight train. Together, they could do this.

“Weasley, let no one ever tell you again that you’re stupid. I reckon you’re pretty much the smartest man I know,” he said calmly and straightened himself up, suddenly feeling focused and composed. “Of course we can do this. It was just… temporary insanity on my part, thinking that we couldn’t. Just remember that I love you, Ron,” he added more softly and pressed a small, resolute kiss onto his cheek. “I’ll do anything to keep us together. Whatever happens from this point on, I shall be working with that purpose in mind. However,” he added quickly, when he felt the magnetic power of those blue eyes draw him closer and away from the sharp claws or reality, “it would be the easiest to keep my promise if I were still alive, which is not a given, if we’re terribly late. My agreement with Snape – ”

“Snape?!” The redhead’s blue eyes almost fell out of their sockets. “You’ve made a deal with Snape?! And we’re still here, breaking it!! _JesusMerlin_ , Malfoy – Draco – you idiot, why didn’t you say that directly!?”

His hot-tempered Gryffindor pulled him behind furiously, heading for the door, his anxious voice still pouring out questions.

“And what kind of a deal are we talking about?! What did the old slime make you promise?! You didn’t tell him about us, did you?! No? Thank, Merlin, that would be a massacre! Laugh all you like, you’re clearly teacher’s pet but I’m hardly worthy of drawing breath in his book! Malfoy, stop it, this isn’t _funny_ …”  

Draco couldn’t help it, but Ron’s temperamental fussing around had startled an eruption of bubbles of hysterical laughter somewhere in his chest, that proved uncontrollable. Sure, they were in trouble, since there was no way in hell they could possibly make it back in time in the measly ten minutes that were left of their time and the blond could only guess what wards did Snape set up to ensure his timely return – or provide a fitting punishment. But there was absolutely nothing they could do about that anymore and he had a passing thought that he had perhaps been infected with a hefty dose of the Gryffindor “fuck all” attitude that made him not worry about the consequences. Besides, taunting his pretty boyfriend was still rather high on his list, it had made those blue eyes sparkle in a most flattering fashion and…

They both came to abrupt stop when a large shadow blocked their way at the bottom of the stairs. Draco’s breath hitched nervously and his fingers instantly flew to his wand, but at that moment, Ron shielded him with his body and Draco realized that if the man had meant them harm, he would have been temporary sheltered. His heart went positively wild at the unnerving thought. Stupid Gryffindor! That loser Potter might have needed this kind of service from his right-wing man, but fuck him sideways if he would ask his boyfriend for the same sacrifice! He was about to poke Ron with his wand to make him move aside when he heard him whisper in a low voice, that could not really hide a sharp, nervous edge.

“Is there a problem? We’re in a bit of a hurry! You’ll find no harm done to the room; I believe we were quite the model guests.”

“Calm your tits, boy… Merlin, you’re quite a temperamental one, aren’t you?” the calm raspy voice answered and with a mixture of relief and annoyance Draco recognised the inn owner’s voice. “I suppose you can’t help it, with that feisty woman for your mother… I only meant to check if you found everything to your liking and…”

“What do you know about my mother?!”

This time it was a full-on hiss and Ron no longer bothered to hide a threatening tone to his voice. But the pub owner merely chuckled quietly and suggested coolly:

“You may want to keep your voice down, boy. As tall as you are and covered from head to toe, you’re bound to attract enough unwanted attention already. Of course I know who you are – what do you take me for, a fool?! You come strolling through the village with that little runt the call the Chosen one; you two and that bushy-haired witch are impossible to miss! And I know who _that_ is as well,” and from the way that Ron’s shoulders tensed and seemed to have expanded, Draco guessed he must have pointed at him. “He’s got his snotty father’s gait… and his money, it seems. I’d think twice about blowing off steam with him, lad, you two don’t seem like a very healthy match.”

And in an instant white-hot anger exploded within Draco. _How dare he!_ Without a thought, he pushed Ron to the side and faced the large figure of the inn-keeper without a single thought to his own safety.

“We could do without your lectures, thank you very much,” he said coldly, angrily. “And as I recall, you liked my _snotty father_ ’s money well enough. But only to get your story straight, since you insist on being such a know it all: we were not merely _blowing off some steam_ , as you so crudely called it, we happen to be _in love_ and if you truly know who we are, you would understand we had nowhere else to go.”

In his side-view, he saw Ron shoot him a panicked look, but a second later, his warm fingers wrapped around him, as if he had instantly passed a decision to stand by him no matter what. But the look on Aberforth’s face was a most peculiar one.

“Is that so…?” he murmured and suddenly his smirk spread into a full-on grin, that didn’t make him look any kinder only more bandit-like, like an old pirate.

“In that case, you’re most welcome to continued use of my premises,” he mumbled, but Draco shook his head and explained coldly:

“As you so astutely pointed out, it’s my father’s money; I have to ask for it and I can only lie ever so often about having extraordinary expenses related to books. If I continued to spend it in such quantities, it would… raise questions. And this… is not the right time for this type of questions,” he glanced at Ron and was relieved when he saw him nodding furiously.

“Oh, perhaps I should have been clearer, then. I meant… for free,” added the old inn-keeper matter-of-factly, the light of an incomprehensive smile still dancing inside of those particular blue eyes. “As it is, I would pay good money to see an honest attempt at seeing the two families reconciled after such… explicit animosity between your fathers. So, be my guests, it’s yours if you want it.”

“Glad to be able to entertain you,” mumbled Ron and by the tone of his voice Draco guessed he was rolling his eyes up. “But unless you can think of a way of getting us into Hogwarts in, oh, let’s say, two minutes, I, for my part, am never leaving the castle again. I suspect Snape will have me permanently grounded well into the 8th year!”

“You only needed to ask,” the old man chuckled. “Snape, you said? Who wouldn’t like a chance to spoil this sour bat’s plans! Gentlemen,” he turned around and stretched out his arms left and right. “Both of you, hold on to my arm… and for bald Merlin’s sake, close your eyes, I don’t want any vomit on my shoes, this is my last clean pair… bloody Filch cannot take his drink to save his life!”

Draco shared an incredulous look with Ron behind the old man’s back, but as it was, they had little other options and certainly none better. 

“I suppose it can’t actually get worse…” Ron mumbled, before he reluctantly grabbed the old man by his arm and Draco hesitatingly did the same.

Bloody hell!!! Out of curiosity, the blond had ignored the old man’s warning about closing his eyes… but only for about a second. The pull of his body was tremendous and when he came to an abrupt stop about half a minute later, he felt that all his organs might have liquefied against the wall of his body. This was certainly not an experience he _ever_ wanted to repeat again.

Ron’s feelings on the matter clearly mirrored his own, if his queasy-sounding voice was anything to go by:

“Mother of god, man, _what the fuck_ … what the actual fuck was that spell?!”

The odd old man let out a stifled chuckle and knocked them both on their backs with his shovel-like hands:

“You’re welcome, lads… and sadly I cannot share the identity of the wonderful piece of magic you’re intrigued by, there might be some, er, legal issues regarding its use, and trust me, you’re better off not knowing. Hurry up, then, the clock is about to start chiming, and I won’t see my efforts wasted on Snape’s glee.”

“Thank you,” Draco uttered sincerely, though still feeling faint. “I consider myself in your debt…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… show them hell, boys, it’s all I ask,” the old inn-keeper smirked and pushed them towards the narrow ray of light indicating the way out of the passage. When Draco looked back, there was no longer any trace of him, so he turned around and followed Ron to the exit. Only – Ron just stood there as if petrified, blocking the light and Draco, sensing there was no time to lose, pushed him forwards lightly so they could hurry up to their respective dorms.

“Move, love, we need to…” But the words simply froze in his throat. He had stepped out of the secret passage onto the Hogwarts hallway the very moment the clock began to chime – and found himself looking straight into the stern stormy face of Professor Severus Snape. But the coal-black eyes were not on him, not yet.

“Well, well, well… what have we got here… Good evening, Mr. Weasley, there you are, at long last. Have you been avoiding me? I’ve certainly missed you in my survival camp. I suppose you’re going to have to make it up to me. So how about… detention every evening after dinner, for a week, for foolishly and cunningly avoiding a class that could prove vital to your… well, perhaps we shan’t call it well-being since all your friends are in the Hospital Wing… but to your continued existence, as useless as it may be. I suspect there is no point in trying to stop you from visiting them, but should I find you wandering around the corridors in half an hour, you will be cleaning all the toilets in the castle until the year is out – without the use of magic!”

Ron threw him a panicked, helpless look, but after Snape had frowned at him, his expression darkening even more, he promptly shrugged and nearly sprinted away. Draco, however, thought that this had gone surprisingly well for the Gryffindor. Detention for a mere week and he got to visit his friends – it seemed that Snape was feeling exceptionally generous! He would normally attempt to have the redhead expelled! And not a word on what was he doing in Draco’s company… not one. This could only have one explanation: Snape already knew. And a cold hand seemed to grip him from inside and closed around his heart, when he finally felt the full weight of the pitch black eyes focus on him.

“Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy,” the menacing man said in that cold voice of his and Draco felt his heart sink even deeper into the ground. The Potion’s Master was clearly making an effort to be disagreeable. “I must confess that I somewhat doubted your ability to make it back on time, however, your methods are clearly efficient… if a tad surprising. As is your choice of a partner,” he stressed matter-of-factly and Draco felt slightly sick at his words. He didn’t really know what to say to that. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself and if possible, to conceive a way to minimize the damage.

Snape _knew_ , that much was obvious and most likely, he knew when he had given permission. It was clear that his skills as Legilimens were far above anything Draco could hope to resist or mislead. Yet – the man had helped him and since his father howling about disinheriting him was nowhere to be seen, Draco had reason to believe that the murky Professor had kept his word and kept his secret to himself. Thus it was imperative to determine Snape’s motivation behind such an uncharacteristic behaviour, before he could pass any further decisions. But first and above all, he needed to keep a cool head about him; he knew for a fact that Snape simply despised wimps and whining. So he gathered all the courage he was ever going to have, opened his eyes and looked the stern Potions master straight into the darkened face.

“Well… yes, I admit my… choice might seem a tad… exotic,” he admitted bluntly, and after a snorted _“Hmph, try unsanitary and downright insane!”_ from Snape, he offered the most leisurely, arrogant smirk in his repertoire and added as calmly as he could:

“However unorthodox my choices may be, I’m certain you agree that the corridor, however abandoned at this late hour, is no place to discuss so private a matter. I would be most happy to offer you a more… extensive explanation, should I be offered the benefit of more secluded quarters.”

“We could try the Headmaster’s office,” Snape suggested leisurely. “I’m certain that’s quite secluded enough for you.”

Draco had to employ his finest Malfoyian drill on covering one’s true feelings to hide the chill those words sent down his body. He was crudely reminded that Snape was the master of this game and that his knowledge of Draco’s affairs gave him the upper hand in this verbal confrontation. This was the fight he could not win. So he played the only way he knew how – like a true Slytherin.

“Whatever you say, Professor,” he agreed obligingly. “If you are certain that the affairs of my heart are of any interest to the Headmaster, I’m most certainly willing to follow you and explain my... weekend adventure. The _whole_ of it,” he said calmly. The feeble threat of involving Snape should he indeed consider taking him to the Headmaster was the best he could do under the circumstances.

The look Snape paid him was begrudgingly complimentary.

“You’ve got a cool head on your shoulders, Mr. Malfoy. I’ve always appreciated that about you,” he grunted with approval and turned around quickly in a way that it made his black coat swirl around him ominously, for a moment indeed making him look like a giant, nefarious bat.

“Have it your way,” he barked, as if trying to accentuate that he wasn’t being obliging out of the kindness of his heart. “Follow me to my quarters. I _do_ wish to know more about your motivation for so foolish a decision. I have my reasons.”

Draco was stuck somewhere between a relief and anxiety. At least the vile man wasn’t willing to humiliate him in public, but once they were safely sheltered from too curious eyes… This was a double-edged knife. Perhaps he was safer in public after all; safe from far worse things than public exposure…

But his musings all came down to nothing when he found himself nearly slamming into Snape, who stopped abruptly to unlock the door to his quarters. Draco found himself swallowing thickly. This was it, then. He was going to have to put his trust – and possibly, his life – into the hands of a man he knew for a fact to be as vicious as they came, if some of the passing remarks, exchanged between his father and his mother were anything to go by, and he only had his newly discovered courage to play with. Somehow he knew that his Slytherin cunningness wouldn’t do him much good under the circumstances – Snape was the master of all things devious and perhaps the only thing he wouldn’t expect – was the truth. However hard it was to swallow.

~

The air in Snape’s quarters was chilly, as it would be in the underwater dungeons, however, it seemed to Draco that this was more a choice than it was an unfortunate circumstance. Snape could certainly manage a long-lasting heating charm, yet he masochistically insisted on residing at a grave-like temperature. Not for the first time Draco wondered, what an unforgivable thing had the man done, that he punished himself with lack of every comfort imaginable. His worldly possessions were meagre at best, the room was tidy but ascetic in a way that could make every monk proud and the room looked more like a jail cell than a home. But this was no time to ponder upon the oddities of Potion master’s character and fate. Those dark black eyes were upon him and he needed his wits about if he wanted to slither out of the unenviable situation relatively unscathed.

Snape sat down on a solid, hard wooden chair and since it was the only chair in the room, there was nowhere else to sit, except on Snape’s bed and frankly, Draco would rather sit on a heap of hot coals than attempt it. So he remained standing like a common beggar and he assumed that was Snape’s intention to begin with. Let him have his small victory, the Slytherin decided. Having learn the subtle art of manipulation at his father’s knee, the blond knew better than to let it affect him. He had more weapons where that one came from. He remained absolutely silent; determined not to let the uncomfortable silence get to him. If Snape wanted answers, he would have to ask questions; _ask_ being the operative word here. He had no intention babbling himself – and Ron – nervously into an even bigger predicament.

“So…” Snape started slyly, after it became obvious, that Draco wasn’t about to turn chatty. “Ronald Weasley. Of all people. I doubt that even a so-called _Chosen one_ himself would have turned out to be a more surprising choice. At least your interest in Potter would have been somewhat… justified. I imagine your father would have known how to capitalize on such an affection greatly… if it was mutual.”

Snape was right, of course. Had he fallen for Potter and had the Boy-who-lived returned his affection, Draco’s father might consider it carefully before dismissing such a significant relationship. Ron, however… And it seemed as if Snape was reading his thoughts again.

“Ronald, however, is an entirely… incomprehensible choice,” the Potions Master picked up leisurely. “He has, quite literally, got _nothing_ to his name. No wealth, no exceptional skill, magical or otherwise, not even a good pureblood name to be proud of, since the Weasleys are largely considered to be blood traitors. It’s a choice that would completely aggravate your father – both fathers, to be honest – and might severely damage your relationship with your family. Not only did you choose _a boy_ – someone, who cannot procreate – you chose a boy that’s of absolutely _no use_ to Lucius and the ambitions he has for your family.”

Snape paid him a sharp, penetrating look as if he wanted him to react, to speak out and defend his choice of a lover, but Draco still said nothing. He had no justification in the way Snape expected it. He needed none. And some of his emotion must have somehow translated to his face, because for a second there the murky Professor seemed almost surprised.

“But I imagine you know that,” he continued thoughtfully. “Why else would you attempt to conceal this when you first asked my permission for your weekend… of entertainment, as you so diplomatically put it? Your attempt at distraction was a fair one, by the way, and it might have confused someone with less skill, however, I suggest you try to think of something other than of girl’s nail polish colour next time: that, I’m afraid, gave you away, hardly any man would care for and remember such a thing. So – to summarize – so far you have taken great risks and attempted more than one manipulation and deception, to be with Ronald Weasley, therefore I believe it is safe to assume that whatever you two imagine that there is between you, has gone beyond the common teenage groping.”

And Draco couldn’t stop himself from smirking to save his life. One could say that, he thought tiredly, with a sort of dark amusement. He bore the marks of Ron Weasley all over his body – yeah, one could definitely say that they were _far beyond_ mere groping… and that might still be considered the understatement of the year. And Snape, watching him intently, must have picked up on a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth as his expression darkened further.

“Needless to say, as the Head of your house and a personal acquaintance, if not a friend, of your parents, I am highly intrigued – and somewhat alarmed – by your choice,” he barked. “I’m certain that you are well aware that you have far better options with your… favourable looks, good-breeding and your family’s wealth. But it had to be Ronald for you. Why, in Merlin’s name, would you do such a thing to yourself and to your future prospects?!”

And so there they were. This was Draco’s one chance to explain to the man that was more than capable of harming him, why it was, that he chose Ron over everything else that would have been within his reach if he had made a more calculated, rational choice. He didn’t know if he could, but he at least had to try. So he looked Snape in the eye, something he usually attempted to avoid, and told him in a quiet, determined voice:

“Who else but Ron? Have you even looked at him properly? Like, ever? He’s all fire and laughter and… _life_ , he’s so full of life. I’ve never felt so alive before… never. Have you ever had someone that only had to look at you and you felt your cheeks colour and your heart beat faster?”

It could have only been an illusion, but for a moment there, Draco imagined he saw a most incomprehensible, stunned look suddenly flourish at the bottom of those coal-black eyes, but it was gone before he could blink and perhaps he had only imagined it. But even if Snape understood nothing of what he was trying to say, even if it was all in vain, Draco knew he had to tell him. He owed it to Ron and to himself to recognise it, to acknowledge and to confess to this shy, stubborn love born from the ashes of mutual hatred, and for this purpose, Snape would do just fine. He represented everyone that would ever stand in their way and because he had asked for it, he was forced to listened to what Draco had to say – which more than he could expect from his father.

“As you are well aware, I was raised to be cool, well-mannered and composed,” the blond continued with a quiet fire burning under his adamant voice. “My life was perfectly charted from the day of my birth, as if it didn’t even matter what kind of a person I was underneath the role of a perfect Pureblood heir I was moulded into. I was not even a proper person until I met Ron. Always someone’s perfect son, a pliant pawn in someone’s far-fetched designs of pursuing greatness, barely more than a living, breathing tool. I would have easily stepped into my father’s shoes, if it wasn’t for him. But he would have none of that,” Draco suddenly smiled at a bitter-sweet distant memory.

“From the first moment on, he cared nothing for my polished, pompous façade. He challenged me as soon as I laid eyes on him, he made me lose my temper, he made me feel… well, livid, to be honest… but he made me _feel_. I looked into those blue eyes of his and I felt more alive than I did in the other eleven years of my life. He completely knocked me off-balance and that’s how he affects me to this day. I went to bed that first night at Hogwarts, thinking of him, my head full of childish designs on how to retaliate to him for stealing Potter from me, but thinking of him, not of Potter. I was convinced that I hated him but I suppose I should have known that obsessing about him the way I did, was a one-way street,” Draco ran fingers through his hair, as if he was perplexed over his own willingness to be deluded.

He paid a short glance at the Potion Master’s closed face, but he couldn’t read anything from it. The man was only listening, intently, as it seemed, but if he had already passed any judgement of him, Draco couldn’t tell.

“And then I wrote him that stupid taunting song for the Quidditch match,” the blond continued tiredly. “Well, as you already know, that didn’t quite go the way I wanted it… so I confronted him. And we got… physical, of course we did, I couldn’t bloody wait to get physical with him, only I didn’t know… yeah, that didn’t go down the way I planned it either. I guess… I was ready for it. I just… I couldn’t help myself, I wanted to feel myself wrapped around him, I wanted to feel him, that raw life underneath me, I wanted to… god knows, what I wanted, I only know that I was all over him and before we know it we’re not fighting but kissing like we’re fighting and… yeah, you know. I started it. I couldn’t be without any longer… and he barely struggled. He needed it as well.”

He paid another shy look, but the stern face was just as dark and closed as before, only an unfamiliar reddish tinge to Professor’s yellowish complexion indicated that he was, in fact, aware of what Draco had been on about. But Draco couldn’t care less. Emotionally exhausted as he was, he decided to throw everything to the dogs and just spill it all to the only man that was willing to listen to what he had to say in the defence of his heart.

“After that I couldn’t let him go. I was a mess, I was scared of myself, I didn’t understand how could I want someone so… infuriating; I hated him and myself… and I craved him, god help me, how I craved him, I still do. So it happened again. We couldn’t stay away from each other after that, we were pulled towards each other like two halves of the same magic and… I can’t explain. He just melted all my defences and I cannot for the love of god tell you how he’s done it. He has a way of reaching under people’s façade, under whatever rubbish is there to protect us from getting hurt, and he brings out the true person. It’s a proper gift, and don’t even try to tell me, that it’s not,” he looked at the dark silent face with fire in his eyes.

“You may think he’s got nothing going for him, but that boy you find so unremarkable succeeded in becoming Harry Potter’s best friend – something I have failed at, as my father insists on reminding me at every opportunity. But Ron is Potter’s _thing he’d miss the most,”_ he stressed and continued with the same unrelenting energy: “And even Granger, who’s supposed to be the smartest girl our year, is obviously head over heels about him! He tends to sell himself short – but I doubt that the true worth of Ron Weasley has escaped your keen senses. You can hardly refer to yourself as _“alarmed”_ regarding my choice, when you admit to having seen through my intentions – and still helped me realize my plans. I happen to think you know very well that there is more to Ron than meets the eye!”

“Well, yes,” Snape admitted begrudgingly. “I’m myself quite immune to Mr. Weasley’s allure, I assure you,” he smirked, perhaps only to rattle his cage. “However, it has caught my attention before that he seems to be quite… pivotal to some rather important people. There is, to put it plainly, something about the boy. You, Mr. Malfoy, have painted your affection for your Gryffindor nemesis in quite vivid colour – beyond my liking, even – however, I still cannot fathom why would a bright young man like yourself risk his entire future, the precious bonds with his family, his social standing and the way the world looks upon him – for something that could be a mere passing attraction, one he will eventually grow tired off. Surely you are smarter than that!” he added with a cold, heartless smile.

But Draco simply looked him in the face and said point blank:

“Because it isn’t. It isn’t a mere passing attraction. Don’t ask how I know… I just do. And so does he. It’s as if we’re bound with some old magic that refuses to let go, even though we’ve both fought it. He didn’t want me that first time… yet he could not hold back. And all other times… I’ve been content for a while living under the illusion that what was us pulling us towards each other was a mere… teenage crush mixed with some natural defiance of the youth. I was supposed to be rebellious at this age, perhaps this was my way… And yet I spend more and more time thinking of him, wishing I was with him, daydreaming… it was never enough. I will not go into details, but you are gravely mistaken if you think Ron Weasley is without talents, there’s at least one area in which he… _excels_ ,” he said pointedly and had a small satisfaction of seeing the red tinge of Snape’s sallow cheeks turn near crimson.

“However, it was not merely… the carnal aspect of our meetings that I’ve grown addicted to. I became exceedingly attached to his presence alone. I wanted what came after… you-know-what, even more. The way he held me afterwards, the way he trod his fingers through my hair to lure me to sleep, the heavenly way his skin, warm and flushed, smelled inside of his embrace – of unspoken tenderness and of me. Our meetings grew progressively longer and it was becoming ever so hard to let go. I wanted him so much I didn’t even realize that I’ve fallen for him before it was too late.

“And then, the stupid Gryffindor that he is, he nearly ruined it all. He wanted to know the truth, imagine that. And I was bloody terrified to give it, of course. For all the reasons you listed above, and then some. As long as it was only an illusion of want, of lust, of forbidden fruit… I could deal with it. But _love_ … have you ever been in love?”

The question came so unexpectedly that for once even the master of deception, which Snape undoubtedly was, couldn’t hide his shock… and something else as well. This time, Draco was certain of it. It was there. For a reason he could not explain or rationalize, he was suddenly sure that Snape had once been wretchedly in love, as unbelievable as that sounded. And it didn’t seem to make him a better man; the bitterness at the bottom of his eyes was more pronounced than ever before. The raven-haired man abruptly got up from his chair and went to stand in front of the enchanted window, projecting its unhealthy green light onto his sallow complexion. Draco could not see his face, so his answer came unexpected enough to have startled him.

“Of course I was bloody foolish enough once, who wasn’t?!” he growled. “I was once young, as hard as it is for you to imagine!” There was bile to his voice now, such as the blond had never heard before. “I’m only 37, you know,” he heard him murmur and it came as a proper shock. Somehow he had always thought of Snape as ancient and yet this sour, miserable man was younger even than his own father. Merlin, what had happened to the man?!

“And what I’ve learnt from this love, boy, is that it makes you weak,” the Potions Master barked darkly, and the edge in his voice made Draco’s hair stand on ends. “Weak and vulnerable… and hollow once it’s gone. It makes you into a proper fool; just the way it made you into one now. Yet… I still remember how it feels… and I find it hard to blame you,” he added more quietly, in a resigned voice, and the blond could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“What happened?” he heard himself ask before he could stop his foolish mouth. “What happened to the one you loved?”

A bitter bark of laughter was his only answer for a long while and then the Potions Master answered so quietly the blond barely caught the trail of his voice.

“She wed another, what else? She couldn’t want me; not the way I was back then. And then she died. _He_ killed her.”

And the way he had said it, it sent shivers down Draco’s spine. He needed no explanation on who _“He”_ was; there was just one such person that could make Snape’s voice quiver. But he knew that much: if He came to kill her personally, she was no ordinary witch. That was a dubious honour reserved only for the select few most powerful wizard and witches. And suddenly he had an inexplicable urge to know more.

“What was she like?” he blurted out and for a moment he forgot about his own predicament. There was something off about Snape tonight and Draco instinctively knew that his impressive mind was no longer focused upon him. Another long stretch of silence and when the Potions Master finally spoke his voice sounded strangely… broken.

“Beautiful… most beautiful girl I’ve seen. We grew up together, we discovered our magic together, she was my friend… my only friend. She was… exceptional. All the way down to her beautiful soul that stripped away all the ugliness of the world. And you know what? She was a redhead… and a Gryffindor… just like yours.”

And for a moment Draco seemed to have caught a whim of a distant tragedy that must have marked this hapless man’s life and crippled him for good. He could feel his ache even from a distance and it felt like a terrific weight to carry. There was mortal sadness at the unfathomable loss, a barren wasteland of unspoken feelings left behind by the years of loneliness – and there was something else as well… something that felt terribly like… guilt. And perhaps this was where his salvation lay.

“Will you help me?” he asked all of the sudden, riding an instinct he could barely comprehend. “I’m not asking for much. I just want you to keep my secret until it is time… until the time is right,” he corrected himself. “I wouldn’t ask more of you,” he added quietly, quickly, eager to stress that it was not so big a favour for a man used to keeping a million secrets of his own.

“I should call your father upon you,” Snape spoke slowly, his words almost slurred and uncommonly heavy and Draco’s heart sank to the ground. “It would be doing you a favour in a long run… save you from your own folly; possibly, save your life…”

“But you won’t,” Draco said in a voice barely above the whisper, afraid to sound hopeful. His heart must have stopped for the few endless moments while he was waiting for Snape’s answer and finally, it came:

“But I won’t.”

And the unexpected flush of relief that flooded him, made the blond’s knees rattle and he had to lean onto the wall not to collapse. Even his voice no longer seemed to work.

But at that moment Snape turned towards him and there was strange light and determination etched into his face and somehow, he seemed more… human that ever before. His voice, however, was the same cold gruff voice Draco was used to.

“There is war upon us, Mr. Malfoy, have no doubt. There will be great losses to both sides and this time, only one side can prevail. And whoever is to be victorious, will have to build a new world on the ashes of the old one. And in this new world, Mr. Malfoy, alliances like yours will be priceless. It will show our world how to heal itself, it will be the only way for our kind to persevere. There are not enough of us left to survive years of prolonged conflict. I believe it is the likes of you and Mr. Weasley that will lead the way. You see, our world cannot afford to lose you. Therefore… I will protect you for as long as it is in my power to do so.”

“Thank… thank you,” Draco stuttered. It was really all he could say after such an eerie declaration of allegiance.

“As you well know… I have no children of my own,” Snape said roughly after a short pause. “However, a promise made to your mother obliged me to perform certain… father-like duties and services when it comes to securing your well-being. You are, effectively, the closest thing I will ever have to a son,” he said quietly and the numb resignation at the bottom of his dark eyes testified of this man’s tragic fate better than a river of tears could. But if there was any tenderness left to Snape, it was buried so deeply under his scarred, thick shell that it seemed forever lost. He was not a man to indulge weakness for long.

“And because of the nature of my duties towards you, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you for the trust and obedience one usually asks of their children. It is _imperative_ for you and the young Mr. Weasley, to understand that it is no longer in your interest to deceive me. Please keep it in mind that your safety is my primary concern – and I can think of great many people that would find the information of your relationship with Ronald Weasley a priceless one and would undoubtedly try to use it to their gain. It could not end well for either of you. Do we understand each other?”

And when Draco nodded quietly, still quite unable to find words in this utterly surreal, insane end to an equally out-of-this world weekend, Snape merely smirked, clearly satisfied, and then added slyly, as if on a second thought:

“I’m glad we have an agreement. And since we both seem to agree that deceiving me is not an acceptable option – you shall be properly disciplined for the attempt you have already made. A week of detention, starting tomorrow evening,” he said humourlessly and Draco growled internally. The man was irreparable bastard, there was no helping it. Still, he had to admit to himself it could have been much, much worse so he wisely kept his mental screams to himself and headed for the door. He paid one last look to the black figure of a solitary man, in whom he had placed his trust, and as rattled as he was in this insanity of an evening, he could not stop himself from blurting out a question he had not yet gotten an answer to:

“Do you regret it? Do you regret falling in love?”

The dark figure seemed to have frozen to the spot and for one frightening moment Draco thought he had at last gone too far. But finally the Professor moved slowly, his black robes billowing around him like a dark cloud and when his face came to light of a feebly-burning torch, Draco’s heart squeezed in his chest at the sight of hollow pain etched into it.

“After all this time,” he said with softly, “it is the only part of me still worth something.”

~

“What are you doing here?!” Ron hissed in panic when he saw Draco leaning onto the wall in the abandoned hallway in front of Snape’s quarters. “He’ll give birth to a hefty litter of kittens if he spots us together once again! Oh, for fuck’s sake, Draco, you gorgeous mad fuck… c’mere,” he murmured suddenly and pulled him closer… straight into a long delicious kiss that neither of them had the inclination to stop.  

“I’ll have you know…” Draco panted straight into his mouth, unable to let go, “… that I was required to come here… fuck, baby, fuck… to serve my detention. Merlin… you need to stop kissing me this bloody second, or I swear I’ll let you have me right here and now…”

“ _Jesusfuck_ … don’t say shit like that, I’ve got a bad case of blue balls as it is,” Ron mumbled miserably, but showing no signs of willingness to stop. “I thought I could do without you for a while, after… you know, this weekend… but I miss you so fucking much… How can I miss you even more?! We have to find a way to meet… somehow, fuck if I know how… It’s back to the fucking bathroom if we must… Those bloody tiles will be the death of me… but still… It’s either that or run myself around the bend… a boy can only wank so much, you know…”

“Ron…” Draco moaned because this image proved his undoing. “Merlin, Ron… after… right after the detention… I’ll wait for you and…”

“I hate to interrupt your… idyllic coupling,” a cold voice said behind them and they flew apart as if scorched at the sight of ill-disposed Potions Professor glaring at them. “But I certainly didn’t bring you here to cast a light of debauchery onto this school’s reputation. This is, after all, meant to be a respectable institution, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes, Professor. We’re very sorry, Professor!” Draco mumbled and didn’t even dare to look Ron into his flushed face.

“Somehow I doubt that there is a shred of sincerity in that statement,” Snape judged coolly and added as on a second thought. “I suppose we’ll have to add another week to the lamentable week of punishment you’ve already earned yourselves.”

He cast a long, shrewd look across their faces, looking for any signs of rebellion, but turned around swiftly like a giant black bat, when he found none. Draco resorted to cursing mentally and how Ron had kept his temper in check, was anyone’s guess.

“Follow me, gentlemen,” Snape told them curtly. “Your… assignments won’t wait.”

The look on boys’ faces grew progressively perplexed when they saw they were approaching the very statue of Gregory the Smarmy, where the secret passage out of school lay hidden. And the quick looks they exchanged grew alarmed when they saw Filch standing in front of it, smiling a broad smile of a blessed man, happily displaying a full array of his rotting teeth.

“There you go, Argus!” Snape spoke, sounding uncommonly pleased with himself. “Both here, as agreed. Please give the Headmaster’s brother my regards, I suppose we should thank him for providing us with such an excellent opportunity. Tell him not to bother with going easy on them, they’ve both more than earned their punishment, whatever it is to be. They are not to be damaged, at least not permanently, if the punishment is to remain in accordance to the school policy, but I expect Aberforth knows that already. Do you perhaps have any idea…?”

“Something to do with the equipment,” Filch mumbled in a voice that sounded as if this year Christmas had come early for him. “He had called this morning, asking if we could spare some help for a week of two. Just in the evenings, he said. Some urgent maintenance or some such. I know for a fact that he’s got a hefty stack of enormous brass cauldrons in that rotting underground cellar of his, that haven’t been cleaned since Godric Gryffindor hunted down that hog, hanging on the wall of the inn. There must be all kinds of filth and… abominable things down there!” he nearly squealed with joy, paying a gleeful look to the boys.

When Ron paled to an unhealthy pasty shade, Draco remembered his fear of spiders and his hand ached to touch him and tell him it was going to be alright. It would be, he’d make sure of that. Spending detention time together was, after all, more than they could have hoped for. Snape, however, looked even more pleased with himself after hearing Filch’s description.

“Physical work for a Malfoy and creatures of the dark for a Weasley, how very… befitting a punishment,” he said with an evil smirk and when Draco saw the tendons in Ron’s neck tense and his face flush, he mentally rolled his eyes up: Snape was clearly provoking and Ron’s epic temper might get them in trouble yet again. Seriously, Gryffindors – what was he thinking getting involved with one of the volatile lot?!

“Is there a problem, Mr. Weasley?” Snape asked quietly, menacingly.

Draco’s eyes quickly darted towards Ron, full of silent pleading, and miraculously, the redhead’s shoulders relaxed and he slowly exhaled what was clearly to be a fit of anger.

“Let’s go!” he said darkly, clearly rattled, but in control and Snape could barely hide his disappointed frown. “Let’s get this over with. I reckon, we haven’t got all night.”

“Well, this is where you reckon _wrong_ , Mr. Weasley!” the Potions Master said coldly. “Your detention is to last as long as the owner of The Hog’s Head Inn requires your services for the evening. I shan’t be watching the clock for your return too closely… as long as you are attending your classes regularly every day,” he added with that special sly malice that made even Draco want to punch his lights out.

“Enjoy your time together,” the Potions Professor wished them in a smug, acid voice, but when Draco paid him one last resentful look, the strangely twisted shadow of the wall-torch erased all malice from his face and he looked strangely wistful.

The road through the tunnel seemed to last twice as long in Filch’s company. The man was happily talking to himself, rambling endlessly about all the horrors that might be hiding in the inn’s cellar and Draco seriously considered hexing the man’s gob shut when they finally reached the heavy door and they stepped into the familiar corridor of the Hog’s Head Inn. In the light of Filch’s company, the sight of Aberforth was a welcome one. Whatever the inn-keeper’s intentions with them, he at least won’t attempt to ramble them into a premature grave. He didn’t seem like a man of many words. But he was, apparently, of a short memory – he showed no signs of recognition at the sight of them, in fact he barely paid them a look.

“Here you go, today’s offenders,” Filch delivered them with a toothy grin, staring gleefully from one to the other. “Whatever the two scoundrels have done, it must have been something that really set Snape’s ships on fire! Detention, for a week, imagine that! Might even be for two! And they’re yours to do with them whatever you like… er, except for lasting damage, Snape said… something about school policy or some other unfortunate rot… I reckon it wouldn’t go down so well with the Headmaster… he’s got school board and such to worry about, you know… shame, that. I remember the time…”

“Yes, thank you, Argus, that will do,” Aberforth cut his words short with his gruff voice and at the obvious disappointment on the caretaker’s face he pointed his finger in the direction of a loud voices and rowdy laughter.

“There’s a pint of freshly brewed one waiting for you there… on the house,” he said in a placating tone and from the look on the caretaker’s face it was clear that was just the remedy to eradicate any feelings of resentment.

“Much obliged, much obliged!” he exclaimed cheerily. “I confess I could use one… was out of breath for a bit… my legs aren’t what they used to be…”

As soon as he was gone, Aberforth growled what sounded suspiciously as _“bothersome old fart”_ into his beard and reached for his pocket. Without another word he brought out a strangely familiar key and placed it into Draco’s hand. The blond’s eyes grew to be the size of the moon when he realized what he was just given, and as in response to his incredulous look, the old man murmured without really looking at any of them:

“This place could do with a bit of renovation. Bought a new mattress this morning. It needs… testing. I reckon you know the way. Put the key back on this windowsill here, when you’re done. Gotta go, can’t have the paying customers waiting for long.”

They just stood there, gawping, while the tall, sturdy man turned the corner and was instantly gone from their sight.

“Is he serious?!” Ron asked slowly, clearly in shock, still staring with his mouth open after the Dumbledore’s mysterious brother. And Draco just nodded as if in trance, not quite able to grasp all the dimensions of the lucky break they got.

“But why?” he wondered out loud. “Why would he go out of his way to help us?”

“Don’t know,” Ron shook his head, clearly still in disbelief. "He's an old man. Perhaps he's seen too much misery in his life." But then his blue eyes darted onto his Slytherin and softened with a gleam of a proud owner of something precious. He quietly moved to stand behind his blond lover and he possessively hugged him across the shoulders.

“But I suppose even ancient, rough men think we’ve got something that deserves a chance,” he whispered into his ear with a tender, enticing kiss and Draco promptly forgot there was such a thing as a strange, grumpy old man handing them the key to their happiness for the night.

Ron’s _“Coming, love?”_ was entirely unnecessary, a herd of untamed hippogriffs couldn’t keep him away from the humble room on top of the stairs and he clutched the precious key with such force that he was bound to have the imprints of his nails in the palm of his hands. But his other hand held Ron’s firmly, their fingers intertwined, and the warmth of their bond spread through his body with a most undoing, heavenly bliss. He nearly felt like crying.

As soon as the door opened, Ron launched himself onto the bed and announced,  _“Yep, definitely new!”_  . He proceeded to pushed his face into the sheets and happily proclaimed _“Still smells of jasmine!”_  - and Draco simply couldn’t stop a smile from crawling onto his face at such… Gryffindor-like enthusiasm. Impossible, mental lot, those Gryffindors, every last one of them… but this particular specimen he came to own unexpectedly, was just so bloody endearing and disgustingly lovable that it had left him quite defenceless.

He slowly approached the bed, hoping to keep at least some dignity about him, but he was quickly sabotaged by his Keeper boyfriend who didn’t give a rat’s arse about being poised and restrained and oh-not-so-desperate. The redheaded brute had – accordingly to his abominable standards – deviously tackled him and unceremoniously dumped him on the bed and then proceeded to fry his brains with one of those scorching, oh-fuck-it-should-really-be-patented pornographic kisses that left Draco with swollen, tender mouth and with an aching cock pressing into the hot body of his lover.

“You think we’ll make it?” he asked him breathless and even as he did, he couldn’t stop undressing him, couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop owning him. Every second was precious, every warm touch priceless, every quiet moan a confession of love.

“We’ll make it,” Ron said firmly, with passion and devotion straight into his mouth and took more of his prize, as if he couldn’t get enough of wonderful soft flesh, declaring with such tenderness that the beautiful blond boy he once hated, angrily wanted and now stubbornly loved, truly belonged to him. “The way I figure… we’ve already made it. Now we just have to make it last.”

_Bought and sold_ , Draco thought strangely moved and nearly stunned by relief those words brought him. _Bought-and-fucking-sold, Gryffindor dearest. You need say no more. Damn, I’m in love with the smartest boy alive… I’m in love. I’m so fucking in love with you… It was always love… what else? God, I’m such an idiot… Love. I’ll never have anything else for you, never… only love._

He never said those words, Ron didn’t give him a chance. When that sweet, bone-melting mouth came for him once again and his devilish redhead whispered _“I’ll let you have me tonight… show me, what you’ve got, my beautiful serpent prince”_ , Draco god-honestly wasn’t left with enough of a functional brain to contemplate their future. They belonged to each other in this priceless, timeless moment and with enough of those, they would have a future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last chapter was probably not what everyone hoped for, but I happen to like closing stories down with a bit of hope for the future and in the given circumstances those two could have barely made it on their own. I hope it wasn't too much of a disappointment - I could have written a sexier, yet more superficial chapter, but I wanted to give them something solid to hope for (and the writing came out a bit tedious, I know). Thank you all for reading, I'm off to new challenges! :)


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